


Recette

by supersinger472



Category: sweet pool
Genre: Age Difference, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kitani has a caring kink, Kitani is also a pervy old man, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Mutual Pining, Mutual Stupidity, Not that Youji minds, Only One Bed, Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Bathing, Post-VLG ending, Youji likes being actually cared for, Youji needs and gets a sandwich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersinger472/pseuds/supersinger472
Summary: Kouhei Kitani is not a good man. He doesn't DO good. But if he can protect the existence known as Youji Sakiyama from harm, he might be able to stop a greater evil, and prove himself worthy of redemption.
Relationships: Sakiyama Youji/Kitani Kouhei
Kudos: 7





	1. Curry Rice

Kitani luxuriated in the silence of the house settling in around him as he moved to and fro in the kitchen preparing dinner. The Okinaga household had been so troubled a while ago that Kitani had feared it would shatter at all the little cracks that had built up over the years since Kunihito had left the Okinaga-gumi. Then, almost as quickly as the troubles had worsened, they stopped.

Kitani set a shallow plate on a serving tray and unmolded several balls of rice that formed the shape of a bear. With delicacy that belied his large hands he arranged bits of vegetables to form a sleeping face on the bear. The young master was still erratic, but his mood swings were more predictable, and—most importantly—he’d stopped hallucinating. The strangest change in his behavior was that he’d started eating more, he’d voraciously devour his meals and then ask for a second course a few hours later. Kitani supposed it was a sign that the already tall and gangly Zenya was getting ready to go through a growth spurt. That made Kitani smile; it was such an ordinary scenario it almost seemed strange for this family.

Turning off the stove, Kitani lifted the lid on a stewpot and smiled at the fragrance of the bubbling curry roux inside, dotted with large chunks of potatoes and carrots and apples. He scooped out a serving and carefully ladled it around the rice bear to avoid staining the white grains as much as possible. With that done, he pulled off his apron and hung it on the hook next to a matching green one he’d bought Zenya years ago that had remained untouched ever since. Kitani supposed he could use it as a spare but nostalgia, and perhaps a misplaced paternal affection, made him hold out hope for the day he’d be asked to teach the young master how to cook.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Kitani picked up the tray and made his way to the young master’s room. To his surprise, the door was slightly ajar and when he knocked and looked inside, he found the room empty of life. The faint scent of incense tickled his nose and he firmly closed the door behind him as he backed away, fighting a shudder he couldn’t entirely explain.

The house was large, the silence that had felt so soothing in the warm and brightly lit kitchen setting him on edge as he walked the empty hallways with the tray of curry in his hands. The last place he looked was in a rarely used wing of the house, filled with empty rooms Kitani rarely bothered to clean. A light in the hall flickered and died and Kitani almost jumped like a frightened child. In the deepened shadows he sighed and shook his head, ashamed of himself for letting the condition of this area of the house deteriorate so much. Sure, he may have been only one man trying to manage a house that was ludicrously large for three people, but he was Kouhei Kitani, and Zenya and Kunihito deserved better from him.

He reached a solid door near the end of the hallway with a brand-new lock set in it. With a start he realized it was the room Zenya had held the two young men, Youji and Tetsuo, prisoner for several hours—with Kitani’s help. The memory sent a chill through him and, rather than try the knob, he pressed his ear to try and hear inside. His heartbeat pounded in his ear, but he could hear nothing else.

Instinct told him to move back, just in time as the door opened and Zenya stepped out. He had a huge smile on his face, but it died immediately at the sight of Kitani standing there with his tray and little curry bear.

“Oh, Kitani. Didn’t see you there.” Zenya grinned a wolf’s smile.

“Young master,” Kitani forced his voice to be light and casual. “I brought you your food.”

“Thaaank yooouuu.” He sing-songed and took the tray, the plate rattling. “Aww how cute, it’s a widdle bitty beaw.” Holding the tray on one arm he opened the door a crack and started to scoot inside.

“Say, young master, what exactly are you doing in there?” Kitani couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he’d opened his mouth and asked the question and almost wished he could take it back.

Zenya’s single eye turned cold and sharp and he scowled up at Kitani. A long silence passed between them and Kitani opened his mouth to ask again when Zenya said, “I’m on my honeymoon.”

The door slammed shut before Kitani could reply, leaving him standing in the shadowed hallway with the feeling of something disgusting crawling up his spine.

* * *

  
For the rest of the week Kitani tried, and failed, to get that door out of his head. Zenya stopped asking him to deliver his extra meals; instead, he sat in the kitchen and waited for Kitani to finish cooking before taking the tray and leaving. Kitani had followed him a few times, and each time he disappeared behind that door.

It was even appearing in his dreams, long hallways with ink black shadows pooling in front of a door that slowly creaked open. There was something different behind the door each time. Once it was a river of blood, once it opened into the toothy maw of a beast, another time there was nothing at all, not even a room. Scariest of all was when the door in his dreams opened to reveal Zenya sitting in the room on top of a pile of students’ corpses from his school, staring into the static of a tiny tv with a glassy eyed expression.

That dream had him waking with a jolt, sweat soaking the thin tank top he wore to bed. He swung his legs out of bed and checked the clock on his bedside table. Just a few minutes past one AM. He could try and get back to bed but the prospect of lying in his wet and sticky sheets seemed unpleasant. He stripped off his tank top and tossed it in the laundry hamper. It would be good to work off his nervous energy with a walk.

As he walked through the darkened hallways of the house, he made sure to avoid Kunihito’s chapel. The man still prayed with a fanatic devotion from midnight to dawn but his pleas for forgiveness were interspersed now with thanks for sparing Zenya. Maybe even his father had noticed the change in Zenya’s mood or, Kitani remembered Kunihito’s conversation with Kamiya at the karaoke parlor, Kunihito’s standing within the strange cult he was part of had recently improved. As much as Kitani admired the Kunihito of the past, the man he was now was a mere shadow of who he’d been as head of the Okinaga-gumi. Kitani was still loyal, but the more he learned about Kunihito’s beliefs the more concerned he became. There wasn’t much he could do besides support the family unfortunately.

Kitani sighed and leaned against the wall, feeling the cool plaster against his skin. His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark and he knew exactly where he was: in the barely used hallway in front of the door. He reached out and tried the handle, locked, obviously, but he knew he’d never sleep well again if he didn’t get a look behind it. Kitani wasn’t ordinarily a curious man, and he wouldn’t call this urge to peek behind the door mere curiosity. He was reminded of fear, fear of the unknown. The kind of fear that turned a coat flung over the back of a chair into a hook handed murderer, that turned fronds of seaweed at the bottom of a lake brushing your feet into the tentacles of a monster. It would grow and grow until Kitani shined a light into the darkness and faced it head on.

Kitani was afraid of what he would find but was more afraid to turn his eyes away.

But shining that light would have to wait.

Kitani let his hand drop to his side and spared one last look at the door before returning to his bed.

* * *

  
It was several days before Kitani found the chance to return to the door. In the meantime, he acted as though it had completely left his mind. He cooked Zenya’s extra meals, drove him anywhere he asked, and in general played the part of the perfect underling. For the most part it was a genuine performance, Kitani would always be loyal to the man who had lifted him from the streets and his son. But the recent events had shaken his confidence that they always made the right choices.

Was this the right choice? Kitani pulled a small plastic case out of his pocket and knelt in front of the door. It was so late at night it was almost early morning and Zenya had been curled up fast asleep when Kitani silently peeked in to check on him. He’d felt confident enough to turn on a single light in the hallway and it glinted off the metal lockpicks in the case. He took a deep breath and got to work picking the lock on the door. It had never been a strong skill of his and he was out of practice. Each second of the minutes that passed was a tiny needly jabbed into the back of his neck, a drop of sweat trickled from his hairline into his eyes and he grunted as he blinked it away.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. After the twenty-first minute the lock popped and finally turned. Kitani wiped his forehead and got to his feet, groaning as his stiff knees protested every minute they’d spent on the floor. He pushed the pain aside as he opened the door, not noticing the way he held his breath.

The single light in the hallway cut into the darkness of the room and Kitani left it open so he could find his way inside. There was a small tv showing only static but it was barely bright enough to light up the desk it was sitting on.

The first thing that struck him was the smell, so bad it sent him stumbling back into the hallway to steel himself. Vile wasn’t a strong enough word for it; he tried to block his nose with his sleeve, but the thin silk wasn’t enough to protect him from the smell. A heavy miasma of feces filled the air, cut through by the sharp smell of urine, both old and fresh. The pungent smell of rotting meat wasn’t as strong but still chilled him with its implications, giving the room a deceptively sweet smell. Beneath it all, lingering in the back of his throat, was the salty smell of fresh sex, familiar to him but out of place.

The floor squelched beneath his feet as he walked forward and he tried not to picture what he was stepping on, or what Zenya had been doing in here. It said something when using the room as a bathroom was the best-case scenario. The buzzing hum of the static filled his ears and made his entire body tense, lending the room a hazy, dream-like quality. The dream was shattered when he saw what—no, who—was in the center of the room.

Kitani could have mistaken him for a corpse at first, he was so still, he only changed his mind when he saw a faint rise of the young man’s chest in the light from the hallway. He was painfully skeletal, each rib outlined in sharp relief, with skin so pale it was practically translucent. That pale skin showed the young man’s injuries as clear as paper: bloody bite marks like bullseyes, ugly blue and yellow bruises, deep scratches dotted with brown scabs, and, most horrific, the skin on the young man’s arms was a lurid reddish-purple where the circulation was cut off by tight ropes that bound his arms behind his back.

If that had been where the stench of rotting meat had come from Kitani would have been disgusted but not surprised, but that wasn’t the case—not entirely. Spilling out of the young man’s ass were what looked like lumps of flesh. Some clung to his thighs by a sticky membrane while others were scattered on the floor around and beneath him, laying where they’d fallen. Kitani had no idea where the meaty lumps had come from, but it must have been painful, like having your intestines ripped out, a sight he’d seen once when a yakuza man had killed himself.

Kitani knelt in front of the young man, too distracted to care about the puddle of urine and feces and blood that was soaking into his pants. With a start he realized the young man’s eyes were open—and Kitani knew him.

This ghost of a man was Youji Sakiyama.

Kitani cast his thoughts back to the second time he’d helped Zenya kidnap Youji. He never took Youji back home and simply trusted Zenya when he said he’d roughed Youji up and dumped him by the side of the road. All the extra meals he’d cooked, Zenya’s good mood, all of it, was because they were all holding Youji prisoner, an innocent who had crossed Zenya and the yakuza and Kunihito’s weird cult, perhaps without even realizing what he’d done. Kitani’s heart broke as he stared into Youji’s blank, glassy eyes, like a doll’s eyes. He’d seen so much darkness in his life, before and after becoming yakuza, but turning a human into this was beyond even the most despicable crime he’d done.

Without thinking Kitani pushed Youji onto his back and leaned over him. Youji’s skin was smooth and warm, human despite all evidence to the contrary. He braced his arms on either side of Youji’s head like a lover and stared into his empty eyes as he wrapped his large hands around Youji’s slim neck and applied pressure.

Kitani didn’t look away as those glassy black eyes started to dim. He owed it to Youji not to miss a single moment of his death, to burden his soul and curse himself. As an apology, it was a poor one. But this situation was his fault and his damned soul was all he had to offer.

Then, something surprising happened. The blank stare changed into one of anger, then murderous hatred. Youji kicked his skinny legs, fighting with the barest scraps of strength he had, ancient reptilian brain fighting for life. Kitani gaped in shock and loosened his hands a sliver, the words Kunihito spoke to him twenty-five years ago rose up in his mind.

“Do you want to die?”

Youji gurgled out an answer and Kitani loosened his grip even more. He held his breath as he leaned in close to hear Youji’s answer.

With an almost feral growl Youji tried to bite of Kitani’s face. His teeth audibly clicked together when Kitani jerked out of range just in time.

Kitani pinned Youji’s shoulders down on the ground, unable to fight the smile on his face at the young man’s fighting spirit. It was sad how easy it was to hold Youji down, he was so weak, but Kitani counted his blessings that he hadn’t succeeded in taking a bite out of him.

“If you want to live, really live.” Kitani looked back at the open door, hoping no one had heard the commotion. “I’ll help you.”

Youji sagged into the ground and stopped fighting at that, his chest heaving from the exertion. Bruises were already blooming on his neck to go with the bite marks already there. Kitani shuddered in disgust and felt instantly guilty; Youji didn’t have a choice in any of the terrible things that had been done to him and Kitani had no right to turn away.

“I’m going to cut you loose now; can I help you sit up?”

Youji nodded and Kitani wrapped an arm around his narrow shoulders to pull him into a sitting position. Youji’s body trembled with the effort but he clamped his lips shut, unwilling to make a sound.

The ropes were tightly wrapped around Youji’s wrists and were more than just stained with blood. Youji had clearly tried to pull free and had rubbed his wrists into raw shreds and those shreds had started to rot. The ropes themselves were so tight they had almost fused with Youji’s arms when they’d scabbed over. The tips of his fingers were a concerning shade of purple, but Kitani would need a doctor to determine the full extent of the damage. Regardless, Kitani knew the pain must have been agonizing as he used an, unfortunately not very sharp, pocketknife to cut the ropes. He peeled off the outer layer of rope, which was fortunately just covered in dried, flaky blood. “Leave the rest of the rope be, that’s probably infected.” Kitani covered his concern over the lack of movement from Youji’s fingers by pulling off his jacket and draping it over Youji’s bare shoulders.

“I don’t think I can walk.” Youji’s cheeks with bright red with shame as he stared at his legs in frustration. They moved slowly, like the Tin Man’s rusted limbs, and looked skinny enough to snap like twigs if he tried to stand.

“It’s fine, I’ll carry you. We have to move fast.” It wouldn’t be the first time Kitani had carried Youji. He slid one arm under his knees and one behind his back and stood without even a grunt of effort. He’d marveled at how light Youji was the previous times he’d carried him and now he was as light as a kitten. Concern over Youji’s weight managed to distract Kitani from the fact that he was completely naked except for a now thoroughly filthy jacket and some crusty bits of rope.

Kitani hurried to the garage and set Youji in the passenger seat, unwilling to leave him alone in the back seat. His mind started to race with plans as he started the car, cranked the heat, and tucked his jacket tighter around Youji. “Stay here.” He ordered, though there wasn’t much point to it.

“Where are you going?” Youji asked, his eyes suspicious.

“I’ll be right back; I’m just getting cash.” Regardless of what his plan entailed; he’d need untraceable money. “I’m locking the door.”

* * *

  
Sneaking through the house felt completely different now. Kitani felt like a stranger in his own home. By stealing Zenya’s toy he had crossed a line and made an enemy of him and Kunihito, and perhaps of the cult they served. Kitani was surprised to discover there was a line in how far he would go for the Okinagas and once he found it, he found it slightly easier to betray them in other ways.

Not that he didn’t feel a twinge of guilt as he turned the lock on Kunihito’s safe. There wasn’t a lot of cash inside, but it was enough to buy him and Youji some breathing room for a few days while he figured out what he was supposed to do after double kidnapping an eighteen year old.

Lying on top of the stacks of cash was a gun, heavy and black, and Kitani took that as well. He stuffed it into the back of his waistband and untucked his shirt to hide it. With that out of the way he shut the, now empty, safe and left.

He was walking back to the garage when a figure in the dark hallway stopped him in his tracks. “Zenya?” He asked the tall shadow.

“Heeey Kitani, couldn’t sleep?” His voice was light and Kitani couldn’t tell what was going through his mind.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Same, too much in my brain. I was just looking for you actually.”

Kitani licked suddenly dry lips and did his best to remember how he’d sounded when he was obedient and loyal to a fault. “I’m here now, how can I help you?”

“Can you make me some warm milk?”

“Of course, young master.”  
Zenya grinned and kicked his legs while he and Kitani waited for the milk to heat. He was wearing pastel blue pajamas with candy canes on them, despite summer being well underway.

Kitani tried not to look at him, tried not to let his betrayal show, tried not to worry about Youji alone in the car, tried not to burn the milk.

At least he had a thermometer to help with the last one.

When the milk was a suitable temperature, he poured it into a mug and stirred in a spoonful of honey before setting it down in front of Zenya.

“Thaaanks Kitaniii.” Zenya grinned as he sipped his milk. He looked so pleased, he reminded Kitani of when he was a small child, full of innocence and clueless about how dark the world could be.

“When I’m a dad, I hope I can be a little bit like you, instead of my old man.”

That pulled Kitani out of his reminiscing. The word ‘when’ said as much as a paragraph. It was the certainty inherent in the word, and it reminded him of when Zenya had said he was on his honeymoon. Had Zenya been trying to impregnate Youji? Kitani turned and placed the dirty pot in the sink, slowly filling it with water so he‘d have time to hide his horror, realizing a few seconds too late that Zenya probably expected an answer.

“I’m honored you’d say that young master.”

“Yeah, you’re the best, always there for me, cooking and cleaning and taking me places. Oh, speaking of being there for me! What do you know about taxidermy?”

Kitani’s blood turned to ice but he kept his voice casual. “Not much, how about I look into it while you’re at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Zenya slid out of his chair. “It was just a passing fancy anyway. Well, nighty night.”

“Good night, young master.” Kitani remained still until he heard Zenya’s footsteps move out of earshot then he rushed as quickly as possible to the car.

When he saw Youji sleeping in the passenger seat beneath his coat a knot of anxiety in his chest that he hadn’t even known was there loosened. He checked his watch, not even three in the morning yet, though Kitani was exhausted. He’d have to stop at an all-night gas station and load up on caffeine, he didn’t intend to relax until they’d left the prefecture.

With a last, lingering glance at the home and family that had been Kitani’s until he’d opened that door, he backed the car out of the garage and drove away.


	2. Pocari Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youji finally gets a much needed shower.

When Youji awoke, it was to the bright florescent glow of lights shining directly into his eyes. It took him a moment to piece together where he was; not at home, but not in that tiny room Zenya had been keeping him either. He sat up and an absolutely filthy jacket slid from his torso into his naked lap, a jacket that was filthy because of him, he realized and wrinkled his nose. He looked around and saw he was sitting in the front seat of an expensive looking car—the central console looked high-tech and the seat beneath his bare ass felt like leather at least.

He twisted in his seat and every inch of his body complained, either in genuine pain or the tired strain of muscles gone atrophied from lack of use. The car was parked at a gas station and, even though the windows were smoked to hide Youji from view and there was no one around, he sank lower in his seat to try and hide. At least the car was warm; Youji leaned his head back on the buttery soft seat and took a deep breath. If this car ride was only a brief respite from the past—how long had he been in that dark, dirty room? Months? Weeks? Hours? If all this was a mere break in the pain, he would drink up every second like a man dying of thirst.

The driver’s side door opened and Youji’s eyes flew open. A tall man in a dark suit slid inside with a sound like rustling plastic and Youji gaped at the sight of Zenya’s driver holding a cardboard cup of coffee in one hand and a convenience store bag in the other. He leaned forward to set the bag on the floor by Youji’s feet and seemed equally surprised to find him awake.

“You should try to get more sleep.” His voice was low and rough from lack of sleep. The long sip of coffee he took supported this idea.

Youji swallowed, his throat hurt for a hundred different reasons, and when he managed to speak the other man looked sad, or maybe guilty. “Where are you taking me?”

The driver leaned forward suddenly and Youji held his breath, fear over what he might do making him freeze. Seeming to catch on to Youji’s fear, the man slowed his movements.

“Just getting you something to drink.” He pulled a bottle of Pocari Sweat that was already starting to drip with condensation in the heat of the car out of the bag and twisted off the cap. He held it out for Youji to take and he did, trying not to look at his wrists and hands. He carefully held the bottle between his palms and took a small sip.

“My name is Kouhei Kitani.”

“Youji…” He licked his lips and took another sip; he couldn’t tell if he was feeling better but his stomach seemed calm and wetting his parched mouth felt nice.

Kitani inserted the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it, merely rested his hands on the wheel and pressed his forehead to his knuckles, “I’m going to keep driving until we reach the next prefecture, then I’m going to find you a doctor. After that,” his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, taking a long deep breath.

“Why?” Youji’s sluggish mind struggled to phrase his question. “Why am I in the front seat? Why are you buying me drinks? When are you going to kill me?”

Kitani’s eyes flew open and he stared at Youji. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m rescuing you.”

Hazy memories floated to the surface of his mind like bubbles from the bottom of a frozen lake. Zenya toying with him. The agony that wracked his body as he’d expelled their ‘children.’ It was an experience so common and all-consuming it wasn’t even routine; it was just his existence.

Then the door had opened, and the grim reaper had stepped inside, had started to carry him away with large, warm hands. Would have done it except…

If Youji was capable of just lying down and dying he wouldn’t have survived the car wreck that took his parents, the hospitals he’d passed in and out of, would have let Zenya’s treatment kill him long ago.

“You tried to strangle me.” He said matter of factly.

Kitani at least had the decency to look guilty. “I thought it would be better than leaving you in that room.” He turned his head on his hands and looked at Youji, the gas station lights glinted off his gray hair and turned it silver. “I thought your soul was already dead, and all I could do was help your body along. You quickly changed my mind about that when you tried to bite my nose off.”

Now it was Youji’s turn to look away, he felt awkward and uncomfortable beneath the weight of Kitani’s gaze. He barely remembered fighting back against him, even if he had, Youji knew it wouldn’t have been enough to stop Kitani from doing what he wanted to him.

He hadn’t even been strong enough to stop Zenya.

The two of them sipped their drinks in silence while Youji’s mind churned. Above all, he didn’t want to die. It seemed Kitani didn’t want to kill him. So, while he trusted the man as far as he could throw him, logic told him he had no choice but to wait and see.

Kitani grimaced as he downed the rest of his coffee and slammed the empty cup into the cup holder. “We’ll be driving a while so you can go back to sleep, or there’s junk food if you’re hungry.” The man said ‘junk food’ the way other people said ‘tapeworm,’ the polar opposite of Makoto.

Part of Youji appreciated the thought but his stomach had already started to churn and jerk from his small sips of Pocari. Instead, he set his, still mostly full, bottle in the other cup holder and leaned back in his seat, trying not to calculate how much he’d already ruined the leather with his filth-caked body.

“Sorry you have to put up with my stink…” he mumbled before the warmth of the car and the hum of the road pulled him under.

* * *

Youji awoke again to light shining in his eyes. This time it was the sun in an achingly bright blue summer sky. He leaned forward and peeked out through the windshield. The car was parked in the street in front of a cheap chain motel. Behind a painted metal fence stained with rust two children played halfheartedly in a pool, no parents in sight. Cars drove past and became nothing more than multicolored blurs, some blasting rap or pop or classic rock. Two teenagers in uniform ran down the street and crossed against the light. Normal life being lived by normal people.

“Good, you’re awake.” Youji hadn’t even noticed when Kitani opened the door and slid inside, but he didn’t jump.

Kitani started the car and pulled into the parking lot, as close as he could get to one of the doors that led directly into the room. “I got us a room. You can shower, eat, and rest while I run some errands.” He was hedging his words, like there was something he was afraid Youji would find out, as if Youji had any power in this situation whatsoever.

“Errands?”

Kitani stared straight ahead at the door, or at least out the windshield. “Clothes for you. Food for us, real food not this processed crap. A doctor if any of my old colleagues return my calls.”

“A…” the word stuck in Youji’s throat. He swallowed and spoke past it. “A doctor?”

“A real doctor!” Kitani said hastily. “Not a vet or anything. Just not a hospital doctor.”

“What’s wrong with a hospital doctor?”

“It’s complicated, I’ll explain inside if you don’t mind?”

“Fine,” Youji sighed.

The passenger door opened, and he found himself scooped up in a pair of strong arms. His cheeks burned with shame at needing to be carried around like a child and he looked firmly at his lap and nowhere else. A summer morning breeze tickled his bare legs and then he was inside the motel room.

It was tired and worn in the way old bus stops and small churches were, the carpet worn by different feet walking the same paths over and over. There was a single queen-sized bed covered in a bedspread that looked like a bruise in the dim room, half the embroidered stitching picked away. Youji finally looked up at Kitani, who was staring at the ancient CRT tv in a way that said he was trying very hard not to stare at either Youji or the bed.

“A guy in a suit and nice car getting a single room is a businessman. That same guy getting a double and paying with cash is either having an affair or running from the law. Both are memorable for different reasons.”

“And a guy carrying another naked guy isn’t memorable?”

Kitani sighed and moved through the room, past the bed, and into a narrow, cramped bathroom with a cracked plastic countertop and gray grout. “I was quick when I carried you inside.”

Youji huffed, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh.

The toilet seat was cold plastic and Youji winced when Kitani set him down. He rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tap of the combination shower and bath, testing the temperature on the underside of his thick forearm. Although he didn’t remove the single black leather glove he wore, Youji noted.

Distracted by what Kitani was doing, it took Youji too long to realize why he was doing it. “Oh no, you are not going to bathe me.”

Kitani shot him a bemused look, and it made Youji feel embarrassed of being ashamed to be bathed. “Can you use your hands? How long can you stand without falling?”

Youji’s glare might as well have might as well have been a shouted ‘no.’

Without waiting for an answer, Kitani scooped him up off the toilet seat and set him down light as a feather in the tub. Steam from the warm water made the porcelain slightly sticky against his skin. Trying to ignore the chill of the tub that raised goosebumps on his skin, Youji looked over at Kitani who was pulling bottles of travel sized shampoo out of the convenience store bag.

“You never answered my question about why no hospital.”

Kitani sighed, clearly hoping Youji had forgotten a conversation that had happened minutes ago. “Do you know Zenya?”

Youji blinked. Then frowned. “Reconsider the question.”

Kitani’s eyes closed as if in pain and he nodded. “You’re right. What I should have asked was, do you know his father?” At Youji’s silence he continued. “Boss—Kunihito Okinaga was head of a yakuza group before he retired. He’s not popular with them but old loyalties run deep.” He stood and plucked the showerhead off the wall before turning on the spray, tilting it so Youji didn’t get blasted with water.

“More concerning is the people Kunihito does associate himself with now.”

“And who are they?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Kitani moved behind Youji and he felt warm water rain down his back.

A broad palm touched Youji between his shoulder blades and he cringed at the contact, biting down a gasp.

“Sorry,” Kitani pulled his hand away immediately and looked apologetic. “I’ll just use the shower for now, okay?”

Youji didn’t want his nervous reaction to be acknowledged, he wanted to move past it as quickly as possible. So, he nodded mutely.

Kitani’s explanation and the touch of the water resumed at the same time, a warm, cleansing stream that washed the blood and the filth from his skinny body. If Youji closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was home beneath his own shower.

Except for the sound of Kitani’s voice, low and rich in his ears. “The Okinaga-gumi was concerned about his associates and asked me to track Okinaga’s routine and who he spoke with. I discovered the name of one person connected to an…organization, but I didn’t have much time for surveillance before I—we—left.”

Kitani was silent for a moment before Youji realized he was supposed to respond in some way. “So, the yakuza don’t like Okinaga, but this other mysterious group does, and you think, what? They’re willing to do Zenya a favor to get me away from you?” Youji’s voice cracked, long unused to talking.

“Not just that.” Kitani shifted and carefully turned the shower spray on Youji’s front. If he wanted to get completely clean, he’d have to unfold from the almost fetal position of hugging his legs. With surprising skill, Kitani managed to carry on the conversation and wash Youji while keeping his gaze fixed on the tile floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world. A skillset Youji was grateful for, as he was sure he’d have spontaneously combusted from embarrassment if they made even a light brush of eye contact.

“During a conversation I spied on, your name came up and it sounded like they’d be interested in getting their hands on you even if it meant losing the Okinagas as allies. And if both Zenya’s family and this group their hands on you, that’s twice as many problems.”

Nervousness churned like indigestion in Youji’s stomach, a sour feeling that made even the warm shower spray feel cold and prickling. “Now you’ve made an enemy of them as well.”

Kitani nodded without hesitation, like this was a fact as normal and obvious as Youji saying the sky was blue or Kitani’s eyes were gray. “There’s not a lot of things that make a person easy to track the way a hospital visit does.”

Youji wasn’t going to let Kitani move past the obvious like that. He reached out to touch Kitani’s arm with an unmoving hand before he caught glimpse of his bloody fingers and stopped himself.

Kitani noticed the movement anyway and the shower’s spray stopped its slow and soothing movement up and down his body, staying focused on his thighs now.

“You can’t stay here; you need to get away. There’s no denying trying to take me along will just slow you down.” Youji had no idea what he’d do once Kitani left, but he didn’t want to be the burden that got him killed.

Kitani laughed, at least Youji thought it was a laugh it was barely more than an exhale of breath, and resumed gently rinsing Youji’s body. “I didn’t steal over one million yen from my boss for my health. I did it to support you. Think of it as my atonement.”

“Atonement?”

“Every injury you suffered in that room was because I helped put you there, because I wasn’t smart enough to piece together that you were in there, because I wasn’t brave enough to take you from there sooner.” He looked Youji in the eyes and he couldn’t help but squirm beneath Kitani’s powerful eyes. The look wasn’t threatening, wasn’t burning with madness like Zenya’s eye did. Part of it reminded Youji of when Tetsuo looked at him, like his eyes could pierce through Youji into parts of his soul that were secret even from himself. But comparing Tetsuo’s eyes and comparing Kitani’s eyes was like comparing apple slices to an apple pie: similar in only the most base sense of the word.

Like the coward he was, Youji broke eye contact first.

But that didn’t stop Kitani from speaking as he aimed the showerhead at Youji’s hair. “I saved you because you wanted to live. I’m not abandoning you because you’re injured or rude or it’ll be difficult to keep you safe. I made a promise to protect you, and I always keep my promises. Understood?”

When Youji didn’t respond immediately Kitani tilted his wrist and let the water spray Youji directly in the face. “I said, understood?”

Youji sputtered and tried to block the spray with his forearms. “I understand!”

“Good boy.” Kitani sounded irritatingly smug and pleased with himself. He turned and grabbed the shampoo and conditioner bottles and frowned thoughtfully. “Do you mind if I wash your hair now?”

The prospect of clean hair overrode any discomfort Youji might have felt at being touched; by now he had begun to trust that Kitani would keep his hands to himself. Besides, Youji got his hair washed by a stranger each time he got a haircut, this wasn’t anything new.

The contrast between rough, calloused fingers and the smooth leather of the single glove Kitani wore felt strange, but both were equally warm and Kitani’s touch was gentle, skilled fingers working shampoo into the greasy, mattered clumps of Youji’s hair. Each time Kitani rinsed his hair the water was cleaner, each time Youji felt the shattered pieces of his heart settle into a more stable position, like the innards of an egg held in place by its membrane rather than its broken shell.

Kitani didn’t utter a word of complaint, didn’t make a sound except to grunt with effort when he had to stand and retrieve a second bottle of shampoo after the first was exhausted. For the most part he only squeezed shampoo into his bare palm, gently worked it into Youji’s hair, rinsed, and repeated. As Kitani washed Youji’s hair his hands didn’t stray lower than the nape of his neck but he was thorough, thick yet careful fingers massaged soap and warm water into Youji’s scalp until fluffy white bubbles rose.

Unconsciously, Youji let out a small sound of pleasure deep in his throat, barely more than a sigh.

If Kitani heard, he didn’t let it show on his face, but he took care to repeat the motion that had elicited that sound, a gentle rubbing with his thumbs right where Youji’s neck met the base of his skull, and if Youji felt that Kitani spent more time than necessary shampooing his hair before he worked in the conditioner and finally rinsed all the soap bubbles down the drain, he had no energy or desire to complain.

Youji’s fragile peace was popped like a bubble the moment Kitani turned off the shower. The soothing sound of falling water like raindrops cut off abruptly and left an awkward silence behind. Soaking wet, his long hair clinging to his skin, his fingers prickling with pins and needles, and his wrists throbbing in time with his heartbeat, Youji felt more like a drowned rat than a human being.

The touch of rough fabric on Youji’s skin temporarily brought him out of his misery. Kitani had a dingy motel towel in his hands and had started to gently pat Youji’s hair dry.

“I’ll carry you to bed when you’ve dried off a bit. I don’t want you getting a chill from wet hair.”

“You know you don’t get sick from wet hair, right?”

“Fine, then I don’t want you leaving puddles all around.” He dropped the towel on Youji’s head and ruffled his hair with both hands to dry it.

Youji merely sighed and endured and, when Kitani was satisfied, obediently lifted his arms to allow himself to be carried back into the other room and set on the bed. Sitting on the scratchy comforter that had been sat upon by hundreds of others, Youji looked around and realized the obvious.

“There’s only one bed.”

Kitani took a quick step away and covered his mouth, his eyes darting around. “You’re right.”

“What are we going to do about…sleeping arrangements?”

“I don’t need much sleep.” Kitani said, his voice gruff. He pulled back the blankets and fluffed the pillows, then searched the room for another task. “And I can sleep in the car.”

“Paying for a motel room just to sleep in the car? Isn’t that a little weird?” Youji rested his, still slightly damp, head on the pillow, his hands beneath the blankets.

“You’re right. We can figure something else out later though. You need to rest.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Youji mumbled. It wasn’t a lie. He was exhausted all the way to his marrow but not in any way that sleep could fix. He felt like a sponge that had been squeezed in a vice: wrung out and dirty.

“I know but try to rest anyway. A proper bed will do you good.” Kitani patted the pillow next to Youji’s head; he looked exhausted too, the scars on his face cutting through silver stubble on his cheeks and jaw.

Youji made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat but closed his eyes, feeling Kitani pull the blankets up over his skinny shoulders. He didn’t tuck him in, but he gave Youji’s shoulder a gentle squeeze through the layers of comforter and sheet. Youji heard footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being slid over Kitani’s broad shoulders before the door to the room opened and then quietly clicked shut.

* * *

By the time Kitani returned Youji had grown bored of pretending to sleep and was sitting up in bed with the tv on. He wasn’t watching the daytime talk show host make fun and simple brunch hors d’oeurvres though. He’d started to watch with the full intention of paying attention to the show until the host had mentioned it was the twenty-third. Of June.

Youji’s mind registered that he’d been trapped in Zenya’s arms for over a month. How could he possibly recover his school year now? Had anyone at school even noticed his absence? Had Makoto? Had Erika?

He blinked and the next thing he remembered was the sound of the door rattling open. His eyes felt sore and dry, as though he hadn’t been blinking enough. The television had changed to a completely different show. Youji managed to focus his hazy brain enough to realize Kitani wasn’t alone, then blushed when he saw he’d brought a woman with him.

She was a plump black woman with her dark hair tied in hundreds of thin braids pulled back in a bun. She carried a garment bag over one arm and a large toolbox in her other and was, improbably, laughing at something Kitani said. The laughter died when she saw Youji, but her smile remained.

“Youji, this is Dr. Sano.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Sano gave a small bow and set her toolbox and garment bag on the bed.

Youji nodded and slowly pulled his legs to his chest. “You too.”

“Kitani, you told me you’ve been feeding this boy. When did you become a liar?” While Sano spoke, she wasted no time moving the two nightstands around to the side of the bed Youji was lying on. She turned on the lamp, removed the shade, then nodded, apparently satisfied.

“I didn’t lie. You know how complicated this situation is,” he glanced at Youji and set a pair of shopping bags down on the bed. Judging by the delicious smell, one had teriyaki in it, but Youji couldn’t work up the desire to be hungry.

“I’m trying to do what Youji needs first and foremost. That’s why I called one of the smartest people I know.”

It was a line, if even Youji knew it was a line then Sano must have seen right through it. Still, Kitani said it with such charm and sincerity that she calmed downed and smiled warmly at him.

“Bring that chair over here and I’ll think about believing you.” After Kitani did so, she pointed at the bathroom door. “Alright. Now go in there until I tell you to come out.”

“But-“ Kitani glanced at Youji like he was afraid to leave him, like he’d come back and Youji would be gone. He’d left Youji alone before, the only difference was now he’d be alone with someone else.

“No buts!” Sano jabbed her finger firmly at the door. “You can sit on the toilet or you can sit in the car.”

Kitani swallowed whatever complaint he’d been about to voice and trudged into the bathroom.

“Maybe go take a shower!”

The door slammed shut.

Sano laughed and plopped down in the chair she’d made Kitani bring over. She crossed her legs and smiled up at Youji. “So, Youji, want to tell me about yourself? Are you in school? What do you like to do? Got any friends?”

She might as well have asked him to run a marathon while playing chess and solving math problems in his head. He’d no doubt been kicked out of school by now, the only thing he did at home was study and take care of his fish, and his only friend had probably forgotten his name by now. All he could do was shake his head mutely.

“That’s alright, I was shy the first few times I examined a patient.” Sano stood and opened her garment bag, slipping on a lab coat and buttoning it up. Then, from out of the toolbox came an array of gleaming metal surgical tools wrapped in plastic, packets of gauze and cotton swabs, and a large tub of antibiotic ointment. While Youji nervously eyed the scalpel in its package, Sano poured a few pills into her palm and held them out, along with his unfinished, lukewarm Pocari Sweat.

“They’re pain pills. Kitani told me about your wrists. They’re probably going to need more than a simple Band-aid.”

Youji nodded and swallowed the pills, struggling to drink from the bottle with his uncooperative fingers.

Sano walked into the bathroom without knocking and started shouting about how gross Kitani was, Kitani replied in a voice too soft for Youji to make out his exact words. There was the sound of running water and she came back to sit down next to Youji.

“The man was sitting on the toilet with his pants on like some kind of weirdo.”

“Where was he supposed to sit? He’s locked in the bathroom.”

She shrugged like it didn’t really matter to her and pulled on a pair of gloves. “Would you like me to examine you from head to toe or jump straight to the worst injuries?”

Youji wordlessly lifted his hands and she winced in sympathy.

“Yeah, let’s get that taken care of.”

Youji had known his wrists and hands were in bad shape, could tell by the throbbing ache and his fingers’ refusal to do more than twitch. But seeing them laid out on a sterile cloth beneath the bare bulb of the motel room lamp was so much worse.

His fingernails had been cut to the quick and painted hot pink during a game of Zenya’s that had long slipped out of his memory, and the skin around them was cracked and peeling away. Sano made a half-hearted joke about needing a manicure but Youji couldn’t manage more than a tissue thin smile.

The first task Sano set herself to was removing the rope that had become embedded in the scabs that had replaced much of his skin.

Youji couldn’t remember struggling that much in that dark room. Doing that much damage to himself.

He was immediately grateful for the painkillers she’d given him when she began peeling and cutting the rope away, swapping between tweezers and a scalpel and a small pair of sharp scissors. The top layer of his scabs broke into crusty flakes with ease, but deeper and fresher ones opened into bloody little patches like road rash.

Sano apologized the first few times she made him wince but soon caught on that he preferred she work quickly, rather than gently, though the look of scalpel-sharp focus in her large brown eyes never wavered, along with her skilled, delicate hands.

“Ta-dah!” She finished her task and held up a chunk of rough rope covered in skin and blood. She tossed it in the trash along with the other mangled rope and the frayed threads that had been embedded in his body.

“Do you need a break?” Youji asked, watching her roll her shoulders and pop her neck.

“Never leave a job half finished. Woo!” He outburst seemed to restore some of her energy. “How about you? Need a water break? Although I’d recommend against going to the bathroom with open wounds.”

Youji took a long drink of Pocari. Although he’d only been sitting there with his mind floating on pain killers he’d started to sweat, and his mouth felt dry and cottony. It took more effort to give his wrists back, knowing the discomfort that awaited him, but he screwed up his courage and stuck out his arms.

It was impossible to tell if Youji’s wrists looked better or worse now. Raw stretches of bleeding skin contrasted with shredded strips of skin that had dried up and started to rot. Infection had set into his arms and the skin was stretched taut and shiny, puffing up slightly.

“You know, you’re really lucky you’re so hardy.” Sano said after she had re-examined Youji’s wrists.

He gaped at her. Hardiness was never a quality he had associated with himself. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” She gently poked at the taught skin around a cut and it oozed thin, clear fluid. “The wounds, plural, are clearly infected, but considering the severity of the injury and how long it’s gone untreated, the infection is comparatively mild. Once I eliminate further sources of infection.” She held up a scalpel. “And give you a tetanus shot and antibiotics, you’ll heal up fine.”

“But what about my hands? I can’t use them…”

“But you can still feel,” she tapped Youji’s palm, “the problem is a matter of blood flow cut off by the ropes. It’ll come back even before the infection clears up. You’ll feel like your hands have been asleep for a month and it’ll hurt like hell. I’ll give you some physical therapy moves but it all boils down to ‘use them.’ Same goes for your legs. You hear that Kitani? Stop carrying him everywhere!”

There was no sound from the bathroom for a long moment before Kitani said, “understood.” In a tone Youji couldn’t hope to understand through the door.

“Well, we’ll see how well he follows that command. Gallant fool,” she said with no small amount of affection before turning back to her task.

Cutting away the skin actually hurt less than removing the ropes. Sano’s hands were steady, and she neatly shaved away infected and dead flesh before Youji even noticed the cut of the scalpel. She dabbed away the blood and examined her work before smearing him from palm to elbow with antibiotic ointment and wrapping him up in gauze.

“Change these frequently. I’ll write down how to do it properly. The scars will be ugly, but you knew that already.”

Youji nodded, “thank you,” he mumbled.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She yanked back the blankets he was hiding beneath without even a shred of care and Youji hastily covered his lap with his newly bandaged hands.

“Relax, I’ve seen it all before. Behave and let me examine you.” Sano worked quickly, no less focused on patching up cuts and bites than she had the more delicate work of Youji’s hands. She even slipped him a tetanus shot without even a twinge of pain. Youji desperately wished she was less dedicated to her job when she carefully examined his inner thighs and smeared them with ointment.

“Any other aches or pains?” Sano seemed to expect something more but Youji honestly shook his head. Sure, he was covered head to toe in Band-aids and cream but after the shower and the treatment he felt better than he had in, well, a month, maybe even longer.

“I’m a little hungry.”

Sano pulled off her gloves with a snap and picked up a convenience store bag. “Honey butter okay?”

Youji shrugged and barely managed to catch the bag of chips she threw at him. He tried to open it, but his fingers lacked the strength; he eventually gave up and held it out for Sano to open, his cheeks hot with shame.

“Youji,” Sano’s voice held the gentle chiding of a favorite teacher disappointed that he didn’t his your homework. “I’m a doctor, you can tell me if something is troubling you.”

Youji opened his mouth, about to trust her with the terrifying story of the things his body had done. But then he remembered the chunk of meat that that had disappeared right when he tried to show a doctor, and the look of suspicion in the doctor’s eyes. He closed his mouth without a word and shook his head.

Sano hid her disappointment well. “If you remember something, you can ask Kitani to call me, okay?” She turned toward the bathroom and shouted, “Kitani!”

The bathroom door opened immediately, letting out a cloud of steam and a clean shaven, damp haired Kitani. He looked younger without the gray stubble. “Yes?”

“I’m leaving.” She tossed a prescription bottle on the bed. “Those are antibiotics, take two a day with meals and don’t stop taking them until you’ve had the whole bottle.”

“I’ve taken antibiotics before.” Youji and pills were old friends.

“Great! See you soon Kitani!” Sano gathered her things and breezed out the door, leaving behind a silence that felt even larger than her presence had been.

“By the way.” Kitani picked up a sleek black bag that looked like it came from a boutique Youji was too poor to even be allowed inside. “I got you some clothes.”

Youji’s eyes lit up in relief, “thank you.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed then thought better of it. “Could you help me to my feet? I kind of want to get dressed now.”

“Of course.” Kitani moved around the bed and carefully grabbed Youji’s bandaged arms. With a gentle tug Youji was on his feet—and in Kitani’s arms.

If Youji had been standing up straight he’d have been at eye level with Kitani’s lips, his strong jaw. Instead, hunched over slightly as he tended to do, he was overwhelmed with the broad expanse of Kitani’s chest. His collar was open, exposing the smooth delineation of collarbone and pectoral muscles. Kitani seemed to radiate heat in a way that Youji, always slightly chilled even when fully clothed, wanted to gravitate towards and press into, close his eyes and let the fresh, masculine scent of Kitani’s soap surround him.

He felt, rather than heard, Kitani’s sigh, so close his hot breath tickled his cheek and Youji was brought crashing back into the moment—and the reality of their situation. Youji mumbled his thanks and snatched up the bag of clothes, stumbling on weak knees into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sponsored in any way but Pocari if you're interested hmu
> 
> Follow me on twitter @SweenMaxine and tumblr @mpregnateyourocs


	3. Pickled Peach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitani endures a tense lunch.

Kitani felt like he was going to split apart at the seams.

He sat in his car and pressed his forehead to his knuckles on the wheel. His back ached and his mind was stuffed with cotton from a long night spent on the, probably filthy, motel room floor. With a soft grunt he pressed a hand to his churning stomach to try and soothe it. If anything was proof that he was getting old, it was that a few cheap convenience store meals were enough to have his guts complaining for hours.

But Kitani was willing to endure those discomforts because Youji needed him to be there, and he needed to protect Youji. What had started as guilt and atonement had quickly turned into something more; something Kitani was afraid to poke at like a sleeping dragon. As long as he refused to acknowledge the shape of these feelings, that meant they didn’t exist.

It was unfortunate that denial was so useless at making him feel better.

Kitani groaned and banged his head against the wheel, trying to shake loose the thoughts that had already sunk roots deep in his mind. It had been easy when Youji was too weak to talk or move, had been sick with infection and trembling with hunger and cold. He’d been like a day-old kitten, something to be cherished and definitely not ogled by a man twenty-two years older. And what kind of monster did that make him? That he was wishing for when Youji was sicker so Kitani wouldn’t be troubled by these terrible, arousing thoughts. He was worse than Zenya; Youji never trusted Zenya to protect him from the monsters.

And yet, no matter how much he reprimanded himself, he couldn’t help but cherish the memories of Youji and himself that were almost normal; The way Youji’s skinny, naked body had felt in his arms when they stood toe-to-toe, not like invalid and caretaker but like two men, and Kitani could almost imagine that Youji had leaned into his chest for a heartbeat. Youji walking out of the bathroom shyly tugging at the hem of the turtleneck Kitani had bought him and his small smile as he offered him thanks, grateful for a dozen different reasons Kitani could read in his big black eyes. The two of them sitting on the bed and watching bad tv while Kitani carefully fed pieces of chicken to Youji, who struggled to use chopsticks, his pale cheeks bright as he tucked his long black hair—and Kitani knew intimately just how good those silken strands felt between his fingers—behind his ear to accept the food, licking sauce from his full lips in a way that was both innocent and filthy.

Kitani grimaced as he felt his cock stir in his slacks. He could think of a hundred—no, a thousand—reasons why acting on his desires was a terrible idea. But ignoring them had only made them stronger; if he confronted those thoughts, they might lose their power, like turning on a light to expose the monsters under the bed.

Just once and never again.

Sparing a glance out the window for any guards, Kitani hastily undid his pants, the rattle of his belt and hiss of his zipper loud as a gunshot in the silence of the car. The desire that had been simmering under his skin leapt up and surged into a roaring flame when he pulled himself out of his boxers. Too hurried, and too worried about getting caught, he barely even spared a moment to spit in his palm like a teenager before he wrapped his bare hand around his rapidly stiffening cock.

His body throbbed and his breath sped up. He was too sensitive, both from need and how long it had been since he’d touched himself. He braced his arm against the wheel, mimicking its arch, and crushed his eyes against it, blocking out the light of the sun, the car, where he was, leaving him alone with his imagination.

His imagination was more than eager to provide. As he rubbed his thumb over the tip of his cock, coaxed wetness down to ease the stroke of skin against silky skin, he pictured Youji washing his body this time, the hesitant touch of his long, slender fingers growing more confident as he explored Kitani’s scarred body. Imagined Youji writhing and clutching the sheets in their cheap motel room, his perfection making him look like an angel against his dim surroundings.

Kitani licked his lips, “fuck.” His mind swam with visions of tasting Youji’s skin, exploring the textures of his body with lips and tongue, capturing his mouth, and capturing all the delicious sounds he’d make.

His traitorous brain supplied the memory of his hands in Youji’s hair and the soft, sweet moan he made. He played the sound over and over, imagined it amplified, lengthened, interspersed with panting breaths and the and the sound of Kitani’s name on Youji’s lips as he drove him closer and closer to the edge.

With a shock that wasn’t enough to stop his hand’s movement he realized he couldn’t let any come get on his pants. He twisted in his seat and grabbed for a fistful of fast-food napkins and covered himself as the dam of pleasure in his hips broke and spilled out. Careful not to spill a drop, Kitani sagged in his seat and savored the brief moment of empty peace his orgasm brought him. The beep of his watch alerted him to the time and he hastily started to clean up.

The Kitani that stepped out of the car looked every inch the professional yakuza he was. Clothes neat and wrinkle free, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes and mood, jaw set. The man who approached the gate of the Okinaga-gumi showed none of the inner turmoil that roiled inside him.

* * *

When Kunihito Okinaga retired as the head of the Okinaga-gumi and his second in command, Kouhei Kitani, left with him, the man who stepped up to replace him was a dour white-collar criminal with ascetic tastes named Aki Asahi. The man Kitani met in the throne room of the classically Japanese mansion—just one enormous building in a sprawling mountain compound complete with two koi ponds—was almost unrecognizable. Where Kunihito had shrunk and shriveled up each year that passed, Asahi apparently had only grown in stature and strength. Sprawled regally on the tatami in an elegant black kimono and waited on by beautiful women in low-cut dresses, he reminded Kitani of a medieval daimyo, wielding absolute power in his domain.

“Kitani, it’s good to see you again.” Asahi gestured for Kitani to sit across from him. When he did, another woman appeared and set a lap-sized table in front of him. “You’re just in time for lunch. It’s kaiseki with a summer theme.”

“Boss, shouldn’t you just get business over with now?” Before he spoke, Kitani’d had no idea Aoshima, the underling who’d apparently filled his old position with the Okinaga-gumi, was even in the room.

In a flash, Kitani had a vision of this same scene hundreds of years ago, him as the ronin begging a favor from the daimyo and his pet samurai. All Kitani had on his side was his memories of who Asahi used to be and nearly twenty-five years of faithful yakuza work. He took a deep breath and removed his sunglasses, shifting his posture to sit on his knees, and nodded.

“I would love to stay for lunch.”

Kitani caught the eye of the woman who set his appetizer plate in front of him and poured him clear liquor into a glass filled with ice. She was too young to be working in a dress that short for Asashi, a man even older than Kitani, and her flawless makeup and dainty body spoke to Kitani of a wannabe model who’d fallen in over her head. In any other situation Kitani would have spoken to her, asked her name at least, but in this room he had to follow Asahi’s lead to court his favor, and the man acted as though his meal was carried in on silent breezes.

“Let’s eat,” the three men said, bringing their hands together.

The smooth texture of the liquor spoke to how expensive it was, but Kitani could tell how strong it really was. Getting drunk at lunch wouldn’t help his case, no matter how much he liked the booze, so he took small sips.

Aoshima quickly gobbled down the dainty bites of his appetizer and Kitani thought a blood vessel would burst in Asahi’s forehead. Considering a full meal of kaiseki could cost tens of thousands of yen, Kitani could understand the frustration. Even he felt a little peeved over the lack of appreciation Aoshima showed the food. In response, Kitani slowed his eating, savoring each morsel of his appetizer; let Asahi see what qualities age and maturity brought to the table. It certainly wasn’t difficult to appreciate the food. Lightly simmered river fish broke into savory, flaky chunks beneath his teeth. A single prawn with the shell still on was cooked in sweet peach sauce. The same peaches were thinly sliced and pickled, giving them a sour, acidic bite on his tongue that made his mouth water. Finally, the ache in his cheeks was soothed away by a cooked cube of egg yolk, smooth and creamy, embedded with sweet, crisp peas.

After the appetizers came colorful, thinly sliced sashimi, arranged in lurid stripes on a white plate. Kitani could feel Asahi’s gaze on him as he added a pinch of wasabi and dipped the edge of the fish in a mildly sweet and salty soy sauce that smelled of flowers and fermentation. The delicious food put him at ease beneath Asahi’s burning gaze. Rather than sweat, Kitani mused to himself about how he’d replicate parts of this meal for Youji.

“There are a lot of peaches involved in this meal.”

Asahi nodded and sipped from his own glass of clear wheat liquor. “My chef encouraged me to plant a fruit orchard on the grounds. Peaches are in season now.” It was a subtle boast, living on grounds so large he could plant an orchard on the whim of a chef, all in the name of the finest food.

Kitani let himself be impressed, because it would make Asahi pleased to win over Kunihito’s second in command. “You’re lucky, you can’t get food this fresh in the city.”

“Yeah, it’s really good boss!” Aoshima, the little toad, piped up.

“Aoshima, shut up.”

Aoshima glowered at Kitani and clenched his jaw, stabbing at his wasabi like he wished it was Kitani’s eyeball.

Asahi glanced at Aoshima, then at Kitani. “So how is Kunihito Okinaga?”

It was a test, but an easy one, an underhanded lob to see if Kitani was willing to play ball. “Erratic. But you already knew that.”

“I did. It never stopped you from choosing him over the family before.”

Kitani’s leather glove creaked as he clenched it in his lap. “Mr. Okinaga made some choices that made me reconsider my loyalties. Choices that I couldn’t justify anymore. Foolish choices.”

“And you think betraying your boss after betraying the family is a smart choice?” Asahi shoved his last piece of sashimi into his mouth and waved for the women to take the course away.

Kitani held back a sigh as the last piece of salmon he’d been saving disappeared. “Isn’t it? I’m betraying him for the family after all.”

The model set a plate of seared, fatty duck resting on a bright green puree in front of Kitani. She met his eyes and saw the question there and pressed five fingertips against his thigh. That many more courses to get Asahi’s help, after that Kitani would be wasting the man’s time and he’d be lucky to just get kicked out.

“What good is the loyalty of a turncoat?” Aoshima sneered.

“About as much as the loyalty of an imbecile. Maybe more.” Kitani thought he heard a giggle from a server but ignored it in favor of the duck. It was covered in a thick layer of fat topped with a flake of crispy skin that shattered as he bit. The meat was juicy and flavorful and seemed to melt in his mouth, but the puree was bright and herby, with an almost medicinal bite that kept the duck from feeling greasy.

“I hate to say it, but Aoshima has a point. What’s to keep you from turning on us again? You have to admit all this switching sides comes across as unreliable. I need reliable men.”

“The fact of the matter is, you’re playing hard to get, but you do trust me.”

“And what gave you that idea?”

Kitani smirked and held up his glass in a silent toast before taking a long sip. The melted ice had turned it to mostly water in the summer heat, unlike Asahi and Aoshima’s glasses which had been refilled several times. “We’re sharing a drink, aren’t we? And the finest meal of my life. Not to mention,” Kitani closed his eyes in bliss as he took another bite of duck. “You’ve already asked me a favor.”

Asahi narrowed his eyes, “right. The surveillance of Mr. Okinaga. How did that go?”

Empty plates were replaced with bowls of white miso soup topped with carrot shavings and bitter leaves. Kitani’s eyes widened when he found a plump disk of mochi-soft sesame seed tofu resting on the bottom.

“Mr. Okinaga’s joined a cult.”

Aoshima let out a squawk of laughter.

“Aoshima! If you can’t be respectful of the former head you can shut up.”

It hurt Kitani to have anyone, even Aoshima, laugh at Kunihito; but if that was the only cost of being accepted back into the Okinaga-gumi proper he could endure. “I overheard him discussing the cult and promising to increase his dues. Among other things.”

“What kind of other things?” Asashi set the lid back on his soup and waved for the next course.

How many courses left? Asahi was growing impatient and Kitani hadn’t even broached the topic of the favor he needed from him. Kitani tried not to let his hand shake as he picked up his chopsticks and cut into the thin slab of grilled eel before him. It was tender, and tasted faintly of sour peaches, but Kitani’s heart was pounding too hard to fully appreciate it.

“Evidence of human trafficking. From the local Catholic school.”

Asahi actually set down his chopsticks with a piece of eel halfway to his mouth.

Kitani let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“So, a bunch of kids get sold to some rich Americans, so what?”

Kitani glared at Aoshima. “Even if child trafficking wasn’t completely reprehensible.” He glanced at Asahi, who nodded slightly. “Mr. Okinaga and his cult are butting in on Okinaga-gumi territory.”

Asahi was nodding in earnest now, as the servers brought a dish of simmered vegetables floating in clear stock. Kitani took a sip and found it was pleasantly cold and tasted of tuna. The vegetables were lightly crispy still, cooked just enough to bring out a sweetness, carrots and mushrooms, radishes, lotus roots, and sprouts, all lightly sprinkled with uncooked, purple shiso flowers. The total effect was that of a meadow pond in the height of summer. Each flower added a zing of anise each time Kitani bit down on one.

Asahi ate methodically but paused to speak. “I do not condone child trafficking in the Okinaga-gumi. Even if I did, Mr. Okinaga should have come to me and begged permission before starting an illegal business, of any kind.

“In light of that, I’m grateful the family asked me to surveil Mr. Okinaga.” Kitani sipped the broth to buy time to think. He felt like he was walking on ice on the first day of March. “I hope that this information is a good foundation to prove my loyalty.”

Asahi waved the vegetable course away. Kitani didn’t breathe the entire time the servers were gone. A bead of sweat itched as it trickled down into his open collar. He took a slow, deep breath when he saw his server holding three bowls. This course. Then dessert. Then Asahi would decide his fate.

If he was going to fail, he might as well enjoy the rest of lunch.

The bowls held rice and colorful, edible flowers; pickled peach slices and white stalks; and cold ramen noodles topped with sweet omelet strips, more white stalks, and leafy herbs.

“Those are cattail stalks.” Asahi said, observing Kitani as he poked his chopsticks through the bowl of pickles.

“I never would have thought to eat them.” They had a tender bite and tasted as mild as water, it was an interesting experience, comparing them pickled vs raw. “I prefer them in the hiyashi chuka.”

Asahi nodded. “They’re good stir fried. You should come over and try it.”

Kitani felt like he’d been punched in the chest in the most positive way possible, he was sure he was going to pass out from sheer relief. Distantly, he thought he mumbled something like “thank you, I will,” and resumed eating. The look on Aoshima’s face, like he’d swallowed a spoonful of natto and mustard, didn’t hurt either.

The three of them ate in silence until the desserts were brought out. Right when Kitani took a bite of a dark green daifuku filled with sweet, airy, peach-scented whipped cream Asahi spoke.

“Of course, just because you’re back in the family doesn’t mean you can reclaim your old position. It wouldn’t be fair to Aoshima.”

Kitani swallowed and nodded slowly. “I’d be happy to prove how loyal I am through whatever means necessary.” Inside his leather glove, the second knuckle of his pinkie where he’d severed it itched.

* * *

After hours more of conversation Kitani was escorted out of the main house and to a large covered garage. His heart soared at the rows of cars, flawless and gleaming like candy beneath the track lighting.

Kitani may have been forty, but he loved toys.

The security guard walked Kitani to a Rolls Royce that looked like it could drive through a brick wall without needing to get a single dent banged out. He handed Kitani a key ring that also had two hotel room key cards dangling from it. It hurt Kitani to give up his own keys, knowing his old car was bound for the chop shop, but it had to be done. If the car was reported stolen and Kitani—or worse, Youji—got dragged into the legal system, that Kamiya guy would find them and the game would be over.

Not that Kitani believed the story he told Asahi about trafficking Catholic schoolboys, but it made more sense as an explanation for why Kitani stole Youji away than the truth about sacrifices and Sodom and Gomorrah and Youji being a perfect female. Not for the first time, Kitani wondered why Youji hadn’t told Sano about the meat he’d expelled from his body in the dark room. It might have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he’d seen it moving; piles of sticky, living meat. Luckily it seemed like it had stopped coming out of Youji, but if that’s what being a perfect female meant Kitani wanted no part of it.

He was shaken out of his morose thoughts by the sound of footsteps. He turned and saw the woman who’d served him lunch approaching, her head swiveling on lookout for guards. Kitani opened the driver’s side door and waved her inside before circling around to sit in the back on the passenger’s side.

Inside, the car was, impossibly, nicer than the outside and years ahead of his old car. He pet his hand over the creamy leather of the seat while she settled in and closed the door; she had to try twice to get the heavy door to close and sighed loudly when the roof light went out. Kitani took pity on her and turned it back on.

In the golden light she was beautiful, in an entirely different way from Youji or even Dr. Sano. Everything about her beauty was careful and deliberate, from the curl of her shiny brown hair to the wing of her eyeliner. The most charming thing about her appearance was that she’d pulled on a long sweater, it exposed her long, sculpted legs but also gave her a serious case of sweater paws.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hello.” Kitani replied.

“My name is Emily.”

“Kitani.”

She sighed and twisted her fingers together, looking down at her lap. “Can I talk to you?”

Kitani was too tired for this, completely drained from the tension of lunch, he just wanted to get back to Youji. “We are talking.”

“I know, I’m just nervous!” She looked at him from beneath fake lashes. “You seemed nicer during lunch.”

Kitani groaned and leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was desperately trying to get a favor from a man who could have me killed for casting a shadow on his flowers. But I’m sorry for being short with you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you, I know how scary he can be. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You see, I used to be a model.”

“I can tell.”

Kitani hadn’t meant it as more than a statement of fact, Emily blushed anyway. “Anyway! I signed onto an agency, but between the training and headshots and introduction fees I racked up a lot of debt.”

Kitani felt a pang of pity. It was a common story, but it still hurt to see young, naïve kids getting taken advantage of, especially when all too often he’d been the one taking advantage of them.

“The agency threw a party, there were businessmen and politicians and celebrities. I thought it was going to be my big break, only…” she took a shaky breath. “Mr. Asahi was there too, and he liked me so much he ‘offered’ me a job.”

“Meaning?”

“He bought my debt from the agency. It was so much, and he didn’t even bat an eye. So now I work for him.” She brushed her hair back from her face with just her fingernails. It was such a careful gesture it became oddly cute. “I can only work for him.” Her eyes pleaded with Kitani for understanding.

“I can look out for you.” Kitani leaned into the space between the seats and rested his gloved hand upon hers. “I can’t promise much, my place here is shakier than it seems. But I can be a shoulder to cry on.”

Her face crumpled in a mixture of exhaustion and relief, like a hundred pounds had been lifted off her. “Thank you…” she whispered.

Kitani didn’t deserve her thanks, all he’d done was listen to her problems, and he hadn’t even done that well. “Is anyone going to be looking for you? You’ve been gone a while.”

Emily sniffled and said in a thick voice, “yeah, I should get back. See you Mr. Kitani.” She gave him a wobbly smile before she slid out of the car. He watched her walk away and wished he was a better man.

* * *

In the time it took Kitani to stop at a drive-through to pick up dinner and made it back to the motel the sun had already set. Hopefully the new accommodations Asahi provided would allow him to start cooking properly; neither he nor Youji could handle this diet much longer.

He let his mind wander to recipes while he unlocked the motel room door and stepped inside. He hoped for private bedrooms for him and Youji, the threat of his spine rebelling and abandoning him increased each night he slept on the floor; to say nothing of the other hard problems that arose when he tried to sleep in the same room as Youji, hyperaware of the sounds of him rustling the sheets as he moved and his gentle breathing. Kitani shook his head—as if doing so would physically remove those thoughts from his mind—and reached for the light.

He expected to see Youji curled up asleep; instead, he sat slumped like an abandoned sack of potatoes against the headboard, the tv on and droning quietly about rainforest frogs. Youji’s eyes stared blankly ahead, not seeing anything. He looked like a doll someone had gotten bored of and simply dropped.

Kitani had seen Youji like this before; he thought he’d seen Youji staring at nothing when he brought Sano to examine him. Youji had reacted when they’d entered but his voice had been soft and sleepy, and his eyes were hazy. Even worse, he’d been like this when Kitani found him in the locked room, his mind gone far away from his body as if trying to protect himself. Kitani’s blood ran cold as he rushed to Youji’s side, the bag of food forgotten where he dropped it.

Kitani had strangled Youji to wake him up in the dark room. He didn’t have the strength to lay a hand on him like that again.

“Youji,” Kitani said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. It was hard to tell above the roar of panicked blood pounding in his ears.

Youji blinked automatically but didn’t show any reaction.

Kitani cupped his cheeks between his palms, his skin felt soft and warm to the touch, which brought Kitani’s stress down one notch. Youji was alive, he was alive, and as long as he was alive, he could recover. He brushed his thumbs over Youji’s cheekbones and stared into his dark, fathomless eyes. Youji could be so expressive with those eyes, his long lashes fluttering each time he blinked.

“You know, I met a woman today who would have killed for your lashes.” Kitani attempted a laugh but it came out manic, so he quickly cut it off.

“Is this my fault?” It was and he knew it. If he had only driven faster or not spoken to Emily or been less exacting in his negotiations with Asahi, he could have been back sooner, saved Youji from this strange mood sooner.

“I’m sorry.” Letting out a painful, shaky sigh he hugged Youji tightly to his chest, cradling him in his arms. He pressed a palm flat against Youji’s back, feeling the expansion of lungs and the beat of heart, a perfect machine keeping Youji alive. All Kitani wanted was to be part of that machine, to climb inside him and make sure he worked properly.

“I’m so, so sorry.” He pressed his lips to Youji’s hair and murmured apologies like a litany. If it would have helped, he would have prayed to Kunihito’s strange god, begged forgiveness, thrown himself on the altar.

A feather-light touch on Kitani’s thigh caused him to jolt and he glanced down to see Youji, wide eyed and pink-cheeked and utterly confused. “What-“ his voice cracked and licked his lips. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, thank god!” Youji yelped when Kitani crushed him back against his chest but didn’t complain.

“Seriously.” Youji squirmed and Kitani let him go. “What’s going on? I blink and suddenly you’re hugging me?”

“I came in and you wouldn’t respond to a thing. It was like you were unconscious, but your eyes were wide open.” He reached up to caress Youji’s cheek but thought better of it, changing courses to run a hand through his own hair.

Youji looked thoughtful and stared at his lap, his fingers curling and uncurling. “I think that’s happened before. I blink and suddenly it’s been hours and I can’t remember a thing. Even before,” he lifted his hands as if to encompass his time with Zenya. “Even before all that. I’d just zone out, even in the middle of something important.” He sighed, looking so defeated Kitani ached to embrace him again. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you sorry for? I’m the one who screwed up. If I hadn’t been gone so long, I could have helped you sooner.”

Youji shook his head, “no, I’m sorry. I’ve been nothing but a burden to you and now there’s this on top of everything else.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about being a burden.”

“Yeah, well you can’t beat yourself because you’re not here to help me while you’re in the middle of helping me.”

They stared at each other for a long time, until Kitani felt his lips twitch and an odd, relieved laugh bubbled up inside him. Youji started to giggle as well, then laugh, and they laughed until their sides ached and Youji was sprawled out in Kitani’s lap, utterly limp from the release of tension. Kitani flopped back on the bed, enjoying the warmth and weight of Youji on top of him too much to even feel guilty about it—although guilt and shame still lurked in the background, ready to begin the self-recrimination whenever Kitani was ready. At the moment though, he was warm and comfortable and utterly content.

“I’m kinda hungry,” Youji mumbled, sounding almost surprised.

And hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, comment, and subscribe if you think Kitani should have bought Youji Doritos Locos Tacos
> 
> Follow me on twitter @SweenMaxine and tumblr at mpregnateyourocs.tumblr.com


	4. Frittata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Youji and Kitani have an awkward encounter.

“Kitani.”

“Hmm, what is it?” The steering wheel slid through his hands with practiced grace as he rounded the corner and began pulling up to a small guard booth.

“Are you sure this is the right hotel?” Youji leaned forward to look out the windshield, trying to see the top of the building. The massive, gleaming black hotel had no signage or identifying marks which must have been why Kitani took them to the wrong place.

“Of course, I’m sure, I’ve stayed here before. Now sit back in your seat.”

He slumped back in his seat, not because he’d been ordered to but because all the breath had left his body. Kitani had stayed in a high-end hotel like this? Youji didn’t think he’d grown up poor; even after his parents died there’d been a sizeable inheritance and then Erika was working. But they’d always had to be careful with money. The few vacations they’d been on had been gifts from Erika’s work where they’d stayed in mid-range ryokans and done free or discounted things like going to the beach or the museum.

Youji watched Kitani’s profile as he handed the security guard a keycard he’d taken off his key ring. It made sense that Kitani had stayed here, the man exuded a mature, masculine grace that belonged in places like this. Most yakuza he’d seen on tv had been more like Zenya, loud and violent; Kitani spoke softly and was only ever gentle and accommodating to Youji, treating him like something extremely precious. Although Kitani insisted he was helping Youji as a way to atone for his role in Zenya’s torture, part of Youji hoped that Kitani’s gentleness came from genuine affection.

Not that Youji was delusional enough to think Kitani found him attractive. Even if the man was attracted to other men, he’d never think that about Youji, a skinny, pale kid with no friends whose body was covered in scars, to say nothing of the strange things his body did without warning. If Kitani had a boyfriend, he’d be someone tan and strong, who spoke three languages and didn’t flunk his second year of high school twice. This imaginary man was strong enough to solve his own problems without burdening Kitani over and over.

Until that man appeared, however, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to monopolize Kitani’s affection.

The security guard returned the keycard and the gate to the parking garage slid open. Kitani must have guessed at least some of Youji’s thoughts because, while he drove past the high-end cars in the garage looking for a place to park, he said, “I didn’t grow up staying in places like this, actually. What little money my mother managed to earn got taken straight to the bar by my useless old man.” His voice didn’t waver as he looked out the window, his voice blandly casual like he was recounting someone else’s life.

“It wasn’t until I met Mr. Okinaga that I actually had a future. Sure, I was a bit younger than you are now, but I didn’t automatically begin staying in luxury hotels, I had to earn my position through hard work.

“Still, you’ve probably been staying in fancy places like this longer than I’ve been alive, right?”

Kitani flinched and his handsome features tilted into a frown. “You’re probably right about that.”

“Sorry, that was mean.” Youji tried to look contrite; judging by the way Kitani’s frown deepened, he probably failed to hide his amusement. It brought Youji far too much satisfaction to pierce Kitani’s cool.

As if he was choosing to be the mature one, Kitani pointedly flicked on the turn signal and backed into a parking spot. “Let’s go check into our room.

* * *

Kitani led the way from the elevator to their room on the fiftieth floor. A part of Youji expected their key not to work and for security to kick them out, but when he swiped it the lock chimed softly, and the door swung open on silent hinges.

If Youji had been overwhelmed by the outside of the hotel, how he managed not to fall over in shock at the sight of their room was beyond him. Even Kitani seemed stunned. Windows took up one entire wall, greeting them with a view of the morning rush hour city glittering below; high above the dirt and the noise five hundred feet in the air, the view was enchanting.

Youji toed off his shoes and his socks sank into plush white carpet as thick as . He glanced back at Kitani, seeking permission, but he was a frozen statue in the entryway. Taking his silence as consent, Youji hesitantly walked into the living room.

Like the rest of the building, their suite—Kitani calling it a room earlier was as misleading as calling that monstrously expensive car he’d picked up a bicycle—was all black and gold. Dark wood panels on the walls had wire thin gold details of art deco cityscapes, the wood itself had been polished to a mirror finish that reflected the lights in the room and made them look like a portal into another world. Not that this living room wasn’t otherworldly enough. The furniture was pale neutral colors and more dark, almost black, wood, with throw pillows and blankets scattered artfully for maximum style and comfort. There was even a fireplace with a massive tv hanging above it

“That far door leads to a living room and the kitchen.” Kitani materialized behind Youji and made him jump.

“Why would a hotel room need a dining room?”

“Obviously so you don’t have to eat in the kitchen.” A boyish smile tugged at Kitani’s lips, he’d been dying from all the fast food they’d eaten and was obviously looking forward to fresh food. “The doors on either side of the main entrance lead to bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, and the master bedroom has an attached office.”

Youji shook his head slowly and eyed the bedroom door. “I’m almost scared to look.”

Youji didn’t realize Kitani was still standing right behind him until he moved away, running a hand through his hair, and shrugging off his jacket. He draped the jacket over the back of an eggshell colored armchair and lifted his arms in a stretch, pulling his shirt tight across the muscles of his back. “We’ll have to at some point, unless you want to sleep on the floor for once.”

Youji forced his eyes away, hoping Kitani couldn’t see the way his cheeks warmed, “even the floor here is intimidating, have you felt the carpet?”

Kitani turned to Youji with a concerned frown. “If you’re uncomfortable I can ask them to switch our rooms. We could get more subdued rooms.”

“No, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Youji didn’t know exactly what Kitani had promised the yakuza to get this suite; the last thing he wanted was for Kitani to think he didn’t appreciate it.

Kitani nodded slowly, stepping closer, “it’s a lot, right?”

Youji nodded back. “Yeah. I’ll get used to it though.”

“Tell you what, go pick a room you like while I get to know the kitchen and call the concierge for any supplies we’re missing.”

“Sure.” The motel hadn’t had a concierge. Youji had never been anywhere that had a concierge. Fighting the urge to panic, he snatched up Kitani’s jacket off the armchair; the least he could do was make sure Kitani had the nicer bedroom.

After checking both, Youji decided the bedroom with the office was better, purely because it had an office. The bed took up most of the space, it was a four-poster built into the wall with golden curtains you could draw shut and block out the light completely. After fumbling around in the dark inside the cocoon of fabric, Youji found a secret button that turned on a thin strip of golden light, revealing the all black bedding. Grinning at how unnecessarily luxurious it was, Youji continued poking at the wall looking for more hidden buttons.

He opened a panel filled with hotel chocolates, then accidentally turned on a white noise machine that cycled through ocean, rainforest, fireplace, and static that had him shuddering and slapping the button to turn it off.

Lastly, he popped open a panel that held a dozen foil squares, snugged in next to small plastic pouches. Youji pulled out one of each to read the labels then just as quickly dropped them back in, slamming it shut and looking around guiltily as though someone might be watching him.

Condoms. Lube. Vanilla scented.

Youji used to be a normal teenage boy. He’d watched porn and snuck into the adult aisles of convenience stores to giggle over terms like ‘ribbed’ and ‘magnum’ with his friends. Seeing those items like that now, in their proper context, gave them a completely different tone.

It was the difference between seeing a sword in a museum and seeing one on the battlefield.

In a moment of clarity Youji became hyperaware of his shallow breathing, loud in the enclosed space of the bed curtains. His body felt warm and sensitive to the clothes rubbing against his skin: turtleneck, jeans, boxers. Something throbbed inside him and he gasped, curling in on himself in preparation for what might come next.

But no pain came, instead the throbbing remained, focused between his legs; something soft and sweet instead of threatening. Normal, ordinary, lust. One hand slid down his body and pressed against his groin, feeling the outline of his hot cock trapped in his jeans.

He let out a relieved sigh and relaxed into the bed, not noticing when he’d lied down. Beneath his fingers he felt the fabric of Kitani’s jacket, wool on the outside and smooth silk inside. Unable to resist, Youji rubbed his cheek against the inner lining, still warm from Kitani’s body, and inhaled deeply. It smelled faintly of dryer sheets stuffed in the pockets to keep it fresh, but mostly it smelled of Kitani, his cheap soap and rich, masculine musk with a little bit of sweat; not alcoholic like Zenya’s scent had been, but intoxicating all the same.

Kitani was a strange man in a lot of ways; filled with guilt yet seemingly willing to do anything it took to get a job done. He protected and cared for Youji yet asked for nothing in return, not even thanks. Would wash his body and change his bandages yet recoiled if Youji brushed against him.

What would Kitani say if he saw Youji in this state, curled up in his jacket with his hand between his legs? The air in the curtained bed felt stifling but he didn’t want to pull them back; he felt safe and protected in here, hidden from view and free to imagine whatever he pleased.

Kitani would probably offer to help Youji in whatever way he needed.

It wasn’t enough, not enough pressure and definitely not enough friction, trying to rut against his hand through layers of fabric. He got on his knees, face still pressed into Kitani’s jacket, and struggled to pull his pants and boxers past his hips. Even the scrape of his waistband over his hard cock was enough to make him moan softly. He was about to wrap his hand around himself when he remembered the bandages on his hands and let out a much less pleased groan.

About to resign himself to being unpleasantly pent up for the foreseeable future—he wouldn’t be able to look Kitani in the eyes and ask him to change bandages sticky with come—Youji pushed himself up and his hand landed on the pillow. It was plump and had a pleasant give, covered in a black pillowcase that his fingers slid against easily, it would feel much nicer against his cock than gauze bandages.

Not letting shame over what he was about to do stop him, although his cheeks burned, he shoved the pillow beneath his hips and moaned when he felt the cool silk brush his hot and sensitive skin. Hugging Kitani’s warm jacket to his face, he let his twitching cock sink into the pillow’s downy center. Youji didn’t need to imagine Kitani touching him to spur his movements, just the scent of his jacket filling his nose was enough to make his hips thrust against the pillow, letting out soft, pleased whimpers each time he felt the caress of the pillowcase’s silk against a particularly sensitive part of him.

He didn’t have exact control over his touches the way he would if he was jerking off, could only grind deep into the pillow, but he could still feel the pleasure building inside him, begging for release like a shaken up can of soda. The pillow grew warm and sticky from his leaking cock and he could feel a wet spot growing on the jacket, his mouth hung open and drooling as he moaned without concern that he would need to return it. He felt debauched, ashamed of these desires he couldn’t control, but felt too good to stop; he only wanted to chase that building pleasure, experience a release so powerful it would wipe his mind of everything—even shame.

But the pillow and the scent weren’t enough. Youji let out a sob of need and rutted against it. “Kitani…” The throb of his insides had only grown and, though Youji didn’t want to admit it, he knew what his body craved.

He needed to be filled.

Youji pushed himself up on one hand and took a deep breath. He wiped the drool off his chin and stuck his middle and ring finger in his mouth, letting hot, thick saliva coat them; clear strings of liquid connected he lips and fingers when he pulled them out, breaking as he brought his hand behind his back.

If Kitani had been there Youji was sure he’d be able to make him come with just a touch of his thick, gentle fingers, whispering in his ear about what a good boy he was, who deserved to feel good.

Instead, Youji had to force his fingers inside himself, gasping for breath at how his own slender digits stretched his entrance open, twitching around the intrusion. He couldn’t move his fingers well, but he didn’t need to, just the feeling of being filled was enough to push him closer to the edge. He dug the fingers of his free hand into Kitani’s jacket as he rutted his twitching cock against the pillow, unable to hold back his short, sharp yelps of pleasure.

That building pressure inside Youji finally burst and he cried out in rapture, trembling and curling in on himself while he came.

Youji floated in mindless, post-orgasm peace, letting his eyes drift shut and continuing to nuzzle Kitani’s jacket. Eventually he returned to Earth but clung to the hazy softness as long as he could. With a tired groan he sat up slowly and fixed his clothes as best he could. Dragging the dirty pillow and jacket with him he climbed out of bed and froze at the sight of the door. It was open. Youji’s face burned as he hurried to his own room, hoping Kitani had stayed in the kitchen like he’d promised and hadn’t gone looking for him.

He tossed the dirty pillow in the laundry hamper, apologizing to whoever would have to wash it. The jacket he kept, if Kitani asked where it had gone Youji would simply feign ignorance. It was probably ruined now, the second jacket of Kitani’s Youji had managed to wreck. He felt bad as he tucked it out of sight beneath the covers of his own bed, but not bad enough to stop. It was a poor way of repaying Kitani’s kindness, Youji knew, but he wanted to cherish every moment of closeness he and Kitani had.

Who knew how long this arrangement of theirs would last? Until Kitani said it was safe to return to his old life? What life was waiting for him that would be more enjoyable than talking and eating meals with Kitani? The thought of Kitani leaving him, or him leaving Kitani made a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. They’d only been together a few days—they could barely be called acquaintances—but Kitani felt like home.

Youji tucked a strand of his long hair behind his ear. If he wanted to stay by Kitani’s side, he’d have to find a way to become indispensable to him.

* * *

After Youji washed his hands he walked into the dining room and then followed the delicious smell he caught into the kitchen. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but he wasn’t surprised to see Kitani standing over a pan at the stove frying bacon while a pot of potatoes bubbled cheerfully. He wore a black apron with the hotel’s logo on it and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose muscular forearms. Youji found himself momentarily transfixed by the sight, extra conscious of Kitani after just his scent had Youji painfully aroused earlier. Even now, his traitorous body throbbed with need for him.

He tried to push those thoughts from his mind as he slid onto a barstool at the counter and simply watched Kitani. The man’s obvious attractiveness aside, he moved confidently through the kitchen, no motions wasted as he strained the potatoes into the sink, a cloud of steam momentarily obscuring him. He didn’t ignore Youji, the way he avoided looking up at him and instead focused exclusively on the food spoke to him being hyperaware of Youji’s presence in the kitchen. If Youji wanted conversation, he would have to start it.

So, he went with the obvious. “What are you cooking?”

Kitani darted a glance at Youji and stabbed a knife into a potato, holding it up and examining it like it held the answers to the universe. Careful of how hot it was, fresh from the boiling water, he cut it into large chunks, then did the same with the others. “I’m making a bacon and potato frittata with broccoli and onion. It’s sort of like a scramble, or a quiche without a crust.”

Youji nodded, relieved Kitani had explained with having to ask. Most of his meals were leftovers from the convenience store where he used to work, on the rare occasions that he ate at all. At some point, eating had become just another chore, it was easier to remember to feed his fish than to feed himself.

“Do you want to help?” There was something in Kitani’s voice that might have been hope, though he wasn’t sure why.

Part of Youji wanted to refuse, sure that he’d somehow ruin the meal with his clumsy hands and utter lack of skill. But Kitani wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want him to help, right? And the man was so skilled he’d surely find some way to salvage any mistakes he made. So Youji clenched his bandaged fists and nodded slowly. “Maybe just something easy though. My hands…”

“Of course. You can whisk the eggs.” Kitani smiled warmly and slid Youji a cup of milk, a fork, and a bowl that held eight eggs. “You’re probably tired, right?”

Youji moved the eggs from the bowl to the counter, being overly careful so he wouldn’t break them. “Tired? What do you mean?”

Kitani ran a large, sharp looking knife under the faucet and turned his back to Youji. He could hear Kitani chopping something slowly, each slice made with purpose. “Just that it’s been a long day. That’s it.”

Youji stared at Kitani’s broad back, outlined by the apron’s tie against his lower back, perplexed by his terse answer. He picked up an egg and gently tapped it on the side of the bowl, then tried harder when it didn’t crack. He managed to get most of the egg into the bowl, but he had to pick out a piece of shell. In a flash he recalled the open door of the bedroom. Had Kitani opened it to check on him? Youji ducked his head and picked up a second egg. If Kitani had only heard Youji touching himself that would be one thing, but he was certain he’d moaned his name at least once. No wonder Kitani was feeling awkward.

“Yeah. People don’t always make good choices when they’re tired.” Youji mumbled, cracking the egg without losing any shell.

The chop of the knife and sizzle of bacon were the only sound.

“Well. There are lots of ways someone can relax.”

“You’re right.” Now would have been the perfect moment for the ground to open up and swallow him. Kitani knew. He probably knew Youji had been thinking about him, the man was practically a mind reader.

The chopping stopped, and Kitani plucked the bacon from the pan to replace it with chopped broccoli and onions. The salty smell of the bacon lingered, now mingling with the scent of cooking onions. Staring at the contents of the pan like it was the most fascinating thing in the world while he stirred, he said, “just, sometimes, if you’re relaxing, it’s better to close the door. So you’re not disturbed.”

Was this hell? Youji’s face certainly felt like it was on fire. He hadn’t felt this embarrassed about masturbating since, well, since Erika had caught him jerking off. This was worse. “Good advice.”

Kitani let out a sigh and set down his spoon, turning to face Youji who was trying to pick shells out of the bowl after his shaking hands accidentally obliterated the egg. “Look. I didn’t see anything, I just heard it. I didn’t even hear a lot; I left pretty much immediately.”

Youji flinched. It turned out the only thing worse than thinking someone caught you masturbating was knowing someone caught you.

“I’m not judging you or anything of the sort. It’s a healthy and normal thing to do. Even I do it.”

That got Youji’s attention. He lifted his head from his bowl of eggs to see Kitani running a gloved hand through his hair.

“But next time, not that I’m assuming there’s going to be a next time, don’t forget the door.” His piece said, Kitani returned to cooking. While he chopped the bacon, Youji eventually got the eggs cracked. He poured in the milk and stirred it with the fork, attempting to flick his wrist the way chefs on tv did. All he accomplished was giving himself a hand cramp that had him hissing in pain.

“Youji, are you okay?” Kitani was instantly in front of him, his eyes filled with concern, the previous awkwardness banished.

“I’m fine.” Youji grimaced and clenched his fist, the muscles throbbing in protest.

“Let me see.” Kitani offered his hands and Youji reached out for him. “Is the cramp here?” He held Youji’s hand in both of his and dug his thumbs into the muscles in the center of his palm, circling out to massage the meat by his thumb and pinkie. Youji gasped at the pressure, but the stabbing pain subsided almost immediately. Kitani watch his face for a moment longer, soothing away the lingering ache with gentle fingers.

Youji stared into his gray eyes and felt himself blush at their proximity, close enough for Kitani to kiss him if he wanted. Instead, he set Youji’s hand aside and picked up the bowl of eggs, whisking them into a creamy yellow froth.

“Thanks for helping with the eggs,” he said with a smile.

The praise just made Youji feel embarrassed. “I didn’t do much.” He mumbled, Kitani had done most of the work, then topped it off by helping him out.

“That’s fine, you kept me company at least.” He added the bacon pieces and the potato chunks to the pan with the vegetables, stirring so they were all evenly distributed. He poured the eggs over the whole pan and Youji’s eyes widened when he slid the pan into the oven.

“You can put pans in the oven?” He gasped, sitting up straighter too try and look inside.

“Sure you can. But it’s something you need to be careful of, since the dish can be heavy, and the handle gets really hot.” Kitani had slid the pan in with one hand like it weighed nothing. “Frittatas are a nice thing to cook despite that, because you can throw in pretty much anything you want and it’s good hot or cold. I can teach you more if you want to cook.”

“You seem pretty knowledgeable,” Youji said, awe in his voice. “Were you a chef or something?”

Kitani frowned at the oven. “Not, not exactly. I did the cooking for Zenya and Mr. Okinaga.” His voice was soft, like he was apologizing.

Youji looked down at the counter. Kitani was so kind, it was easy to forget he’d helped Zenya ruin his life; then something would abruptly remind him that not all of Kitani’s guilt was misplaced.

“Why did you do it?”

Kitani stood across the counter from Youji and pulled off his glove; underneath, his pinkie was too short, cut off at the second knuckle. “Mr. Kunihito saved me, raised me. Without him, I’d be less than nothing. Some debts can never be repaid, but I tried; first by spilling my blood for him, then by offering my service. I owe you a different kind of debt, but you don’t have to forgive me. You can hate me with all your being, attack me, I don’t care.”

Youji turned away from the terrible sight, not because it was gruesome, but because of how weighty the gesture was. He looked at his own hands, carefully wrapped in bandages by Kitani’s gentle hands, and tried to imagine ever caring for someone that much.

Kitani pulled his glove back on. “If you can’t understand, that’s a good thing, it means you still belong in normal society.”

Youji laughed bitterly, “I never belonged in normal society. I know I sound like an edgy kid but it’s true.” He hugged his stomach and stared at the counter.

Kitani’s hand stretched out and lightly ruffled Youji’s hair, his warm touch chasing away the chill that had settled over Youji. “If normal society won’t have you, find a new home. I’ll follow at your side and protect you.”

“Protect…” Why did such a kind declaration hurt so much? It must have been a sign Youji was broken inside; he didn’t want to be protected, he didn’t want to be a burden, he wanted Kitani to need him as much as Youji needed him. He stared at his whole fingers and bandaged wrists and thought about debts that could only be repaid with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up how to make a bacon+potato+broccoli frittata, they're hella good.
> 
> Twitter: @SweenMaxine Tumblr: mpregnateyourocs.tumblr.com


	5. Cream Bun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitani breaks bread with a new, familiar enemy

Kitani fought a yawn as he walked to the counter of the small café he’d spent the past hour in and asked for a refill of black coffee, sipping the hot brew as he made his way back to his seat. A folder full of meaningless spreadsheets, a leatherbound notebook with a ribbon bookmark he’d bought with the cash Asahi had given him, and a portable radio with a set of headphones marked his territory in a seat facing out at the street next to the door. The café got most of its business from the nearby school and, by this point in the day, was nearly deserted. With the supplies he’d brought, he looked like an office worker looking for a change of pace and a ready source of caffeine.

Even with the ruse, he figured he only had about one more hour before he had to return to ‘work.’ It was a shame, he’d chosen the café specifically because of its proximity to Komanami Private Academy, Youji’s and Zenya’s—most likely former at this point—high school. Despite the connection to the boys, Kitani was really here doing work for the Okinaga-gumi. Part of the deal he’d struck with Asahi required him to get more information on the supposed child trafficking ring at the school.

Kitani wasn’t sure how much he’d find out about Kunihito’s cult, but it didn’t hurt to be thorough.

He’d left the Rolls Royce at a parking garage and ridden the train to the school. On board, he’d slipped a few listening devices into the bags of some students he’d seen dressed in the familiar gray uniform of the private school. Like the device he’d planted on Kunihito, they only worked within a short range, once he left the café, they’d become almost useless. Now that the gear was in place and his ruse was fully established, all he could do was listen to the radio and hope for a whisper of useful information.

Kitani sighed. Surveillance was boring. He flipped through the channels on his radio, each one keyed to a different device in someone’s pocket or backpack, and made note of names and places he heard.

“Did you catch the game last night?”

Endless streams of idle teen chatter.

“Hey, can I borrow a pen?”

Minor problems that seemed world shattering to those involved.

“Makoto! That story’s twisted!”

Gossip and scary stories that were funny because of how outlandish they were.

The work was boring yet involved enough that Kitani’s mind couldn’t wander; the next conversation could lead to a breakthrough. Still, no man was perfect, despite how hard he worked, his thoughts kept leaving the moment in favor of remembering last night.

He’d overheard Youji touching himself in his bed, that he’d then had to sleep in. Kitani sipped his coffee, no wonder he was tired. Fantasies of him and Youji had kept him up late until he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep with his spent cock in his hand like a horny teenager. Kitani had never thought of himself as sexually voracious, even his brief stint as a host had been more about earning a quick buck than any desire for sex. He rarely touched himself and, even on his rare days off, he didn’t go hunting for one-night stands. At forty, he’d resigned himself to a life free of the distraction of sex.

Yet just a few days with Youji had him jerking off several times a night.

He sighed into his coffee and turned a page in his notebook. Was he becoming a pervert, or had these desires always lurked inside him, waiting for the right person to draw them to the surface?

“Excuse me, sir?”

Kitani turned and pulled off his headphones, smiling at the café worker. “Sorry, do you need the table?”

“It’s not that.” She held up a small plate, on which was a golden-brown bun dusted in powdered sugar. It was made from several smaller buns around a larger one fused into the shape of a paw. The overall effect was extremely cute. “The man in the lab coat bought this for you and asked me to deliver it.” Her eyes were sparkling, delighted to play a part in a potential meet-cute.

Kitani glanced at the man, he hadn’t even seen him come in. He was tall, with pale brown hair and glasses. He felt Kitani’s gaze and looked back at him, waving with the hand that didn’t hold his coffee.

“Thank you,” Kitani said sincerely, taking the cat paw bun. As she left, the man approached, stealing a chair from the table nearby.

Kitani immediately got the impression that this man wasn’t here to flirt, his eyes were too cold, like glittering stones behind his glasses.

“You should try the bun, it’s delicious.” Something about the man’s voice was familiar, though Kitani couldn’t place where he’d heard it.

If the bun had come from the man directly, Kitani wouldn’t have trusted it, but since the worker had handed it to him it was probably safe. Shrugging, he pulled off one of the toes and popped it into his mouth. The bread was mildly sweet and chewy, filled with vanilla custard. “It is good.”

“You can buy one for Zenya and Kunihito. On second thought, maybe not.”

Kitani felt like he was swallowing glue and paper. “Why would I do that?”

“Aren’t they your beloved masters? Things have been hard for them lately.”

“And why would that matter to you?”

“Isn’t it a teacher’s job to worry about his students?”

Suddenly, Kitani realized why this cold, oily voice was so familiar. “I think your interest in them goes beyond that, Kamiya.”

The man Kitani had eavesdropped on speaking to Kunihito merely chuckled. “You’re not wrong. But I think you overestimate just how important Zenya himself is.”

Even though he’d cut ties with Zenya, Kitani still hated the way Kamiya said his name, like it was trash to be discarded.

“Are you a religious man, Mr. Kitani? No matter if you aren’t, specific knowledge isn’t important in this analogy. You know about saints though, don’t you?”

Kitani refused to be intimidated by Kamiya knowing his name, he could have learned it from Kunihito or any other yakuza who’d been around for more than a few years. He merely nodded at the teacher.

“Well, the saints were great heroes in mythology who endured terrible tortures in the name of god and were uplifted. But there are many who endured such tortures who did not get to join the holy host. They were, for one reason or another, unworthy. Zenya is one such pathetic, unworthy creature.”

Kamiya’s voice remained cold and smooth, like a shard of glass, eminently capable of slitting Kitani’s throat. He’d spoken to a lot of people who wished him harm in his life, people who wished to kill Kitani or destroy him. As of yet, he couldn’t tell which camp Kamiya fell into, or how sincere he was about comparing Zenya to a failed saint.

“Then what’s your role in this? Are you some kind of apostle? Do you have ‘The Gospel of Kamiya’ tucked away somewhere?”

A smile oozed its way like a snail across Kamiya’s face and he spread his hands in a worldly shrug. “I remain, as always, an educator. If saints were holy then, by extension, doesn’t that make those responsible for their trials agents of God?” He huffed out a laugh, amused by a joke only he understood.

“I thought Zenya wasn’t a saint, could never be one.”

Kamiya sighed, for all the world a teacher frustrated by a particularly slow student. “Zenya isn’t important. His father isn’t important, although he is useful. You, especially, are utterly insignificant. Don’t frown like that, even I don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

“Then explain it to me plainly. Who is the important one in your little holy trial?”

Kamiya tapped a finger to his lips, debating how much to tell Kitani. Eventually, he pulled a toe off Kitani’s bun and popped it into his mouth, holding up two fingers. “I suppose it’s only fair. I’ll give you two hints; the Liberated and their masters, the Inner Beings, despise all things that God smiles on.” He licked the powdered sugar delicately off his fingers.

“Your second hint is that we don’t actually want any harm to come to Youji. His is a very rare and precious existence. In many ways, he is our Mother Mary.”

Kitani pulled the plate away from Kamiya and tore the bun in half, staring him down across the table. “If that is your stance, then you and I have no choice but to become enemies.” The thick cream oozed from the split bun and spread slowly across the bone white plate.

“He’s that important to you? Even if I told you that he’s not human?”

Kitani tore into the shredded half of his bun with his teeth and shrugged. “Humanity is an irrelevant condition.” He fixed Kamiya with a stone-cold look; as far as Kitani was concerned, if the teacher made another move against Youji, his days of serving the Liberated would be very short and very painful. “Youji is mine. Forget that, and I’ll show you just how destructive a human can be.” Shoving the last of the bun in his mouth, Kitani scooped up his things and left, not sparing a backwards glance at Kamiya; even so, he could feel his cold gaze on the back of his neck until he rounded the corner

Ducking out of sight behind a dumpster in a back alley, Kitani finally let himself catch his breath. Staying collected in front of that snake had almost taken more self-control than negotiating with Asahi. His back was soaked in cold sweat and the bun in his guts mingled ominously with his many cups of coffee.

Suddenly gripped with paranoia, he fished a disposable cellphone, another debt owed to Asahi, out of his pocket, and typed in a number he’d memorized. He didn’t breathe again until the phone stopped ringing and he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello?” Youji said, his voice slightly distorted by the cheap cell.

“It’s Kitani.” The hotel suite landline had caller ID, but it didn’t work on the prepaid, convenience store phone.

“Oh. Hi. Did you need something?” For a moment, it almost sounded like ‘did I do something wrong?’

Kitani’s mind went blank. He had no idea how to tell Youji he’d called in the middle of work because he needed to hear his voice. Not that he thought Youji would even welcome a sentiment like that. Frantically, his mind latched onto the most relevant topic for this time of day.

“Just wondering if you ate breakfast.”

Kitani thought Youji let out an annoyed sigh, but it might have just been interference in the line. “What does it matter?”

“You have to take your antibiotics with food, remember? So, what did you have for breakfast?”

“I took the antibiotics.”

Kitani pulled the phone away so Youji wouldn’t hear his eye roll. “That’s not the question I asked.”

There was a long pause from the other end, almost five minutes. Despite Youji’s oddly petulant attitude, Kitani felt relieved to know he was safe in the hotel.

“Some toast with jam.” Youji said at last around a mouthful of crunching.

“Alright, that’s fine. Is there any flavor jam you like? I won’t be back for lunch, but I can stop by the store for dinner. Is there any food you like?”

“I don’t really care.”

“What are you having for lunch?”

“Don’t know.”

“Youji!” He couldn’t help but snap, still on edge from the talk with Kamiya. He forced himself to continue in a calmer tone. “Why are you being difficult about this? You need to eat to get your strength up; otherwise you’ll never get better.”

“Sorry.” Youji mumbled. “I don’t mean to cause problems.”

“You’re not causing problems. I’m just worried.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about you!” Kitani clamped his jaw shut, worried for a moment that he’d said something else. “Please take better care of yourself when I’m not around or all I’ll do is worry.” He felt slightly manipulative, leaning on Youji’s desire not to be a burden, not to take up space in other people’s minds. If it served the larger purpose of getting Youji eating regular meals then a little manipulation was fine, right? Kitani’s heartburn seemed unwilling to agree.

“I like honey, and strawberry jam.” Youji said softly. “And I guess I could,” he paused to rephrase his statement, “I was thinking of reheating that leftover frittata thing, if that’s alright.”

Kitani couldn’t help but let out a relieved laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, that’s fine by me. I’ll make something that makes good leftovers for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Yeah. See you at home.”

How could four short words incapacitate an old man so easily? His heart felt squeezed in a vice he never wanted to escape from. Youji had said them so casually, as though he’d been thinking that way for a while. Kitani couldn’t work up the courage to say them back, he was too afraid he’d let slip the wrong words and destroy the fragile peace he’d worked so hard to build. Better to live in hiding and lure Youji close with kindness. It was a false kindness, rooted not in the pure compassion Youji thought it was, but lust and love all twisted together like the roots of a pitcher plant. Lying hurt, but not as much as losing Youji’s sweet smiles would be.

So, all he said in reply was, “I’ll see you there.”

* * *

Later that day, Kitani closed the door to Asahi’s office and tried not to sigh. The man was no more pleasant one on one than he’d been at lunch with Aoshima. If anything, he was more predatory in the close confines of his office, a tiger without the safety of a fence—or half a throne room—between them.

Still, he felt that he’d done a competent job presenting what he’d learned during the day’s surveillance—obviously edited to fit the trafficking story and leave Youji out of it. Asahi had handed him another wad of cash and told him to keep up the good work. It made Kitani’s skin crawl to accept the man’s money; every time he did so he felt his ledger grow redder, but it would be counterproductive to refuse.

Kitani heard the click of high heels on the wood floor and turned to see Emily approaching, dressed in a tight red bandage dress, embellished with a pair of gold earrings made of dozens of delicate chains dangling like waterfalls from her ears.

“Hi Mr. Kitani.” She seemed relieved to see him, one of the many yakuza constantly loitering around the compound must have been giving her trouble, most likely Aoshima or Asahi.

“Hello Emily.” He hoped his exhaustion didn’t show in his smile. Today had been one tense conversation after another. Now it was almost dinner and he still needed to stop at the store.

“You just get out of a meeting with Mr. Asahi?”

“That’s right.” He nodded and slid his hands into his pockets.

“It’s rough in there, right?” She said with a wince that made him feel a surge of empathy for her. Asahi was difficult for Kitani to deal with and the man at least respected Kitani’s skills and experience; he couldn’t imagine how being alone in the office would feel for someone he owned.

“You know what I like to do after a long day? I like to have a drink.” Emily smiled up at him and looped her arm around his bent elbow. Standing pressed together like that, Kitani could feel the warmth of her body and smell her perfume, sweet and floral.

“I don’t really go out to bars,” Kitani lied. “Not my scene.”

“We don’t have to go out to drink. I figured a guy like you would prefer to drink in a calm environment anyway. Just one drink, please? I wanted to talk to you about something.” She squeezed his arm with one manicured hand and looked up at him, her voice soft and slightly pleading.

Kitani caved like a wet cardboard box. If she was relying on him, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. “Alright. One drink, but I need to drive home.”

He raked his free hand through his gray hair as she towed him into a spare office with a view of the fruit orchard.

“The group’s lawyer uses this office when she visits.” Emily explained, opening a glass cabinet, and pulling out a crystal decanter and two matching tumblers.

“Won’t you get in trouble for drinking her booze?” Kitani sat in a deceptively uncomfortable chair while Emily sat on the edge of the desk, one long, smooth leg swinging while she poured brown liquor into the tumblers.

“Just two drinks? I don’t think she’ll notice.”

Kitani was less sure, but he took the glass from her anyway and clinked against hers. He took a sip of the smooth, expensive alcohol—brandy, not whiskey as he’d expected—and leaned back in his chair with his legs spread, trying to get more comfortable. For some reason, his discomfort hadn’t abated, and he told himself it was because he was still deep in the bowels of Asahi’s lair. As dramatic as it was, it felt right to call it that.

He tried to chase away that unease with another swallow of brandy and let the warmth fill his chest. He felt Emily’s eyes on him and remembered she’d invited him to talk, not to watch him get sloshed. Licking a drop of alcohol from his lips, he leaned forward and pressed the tumbler between his palms, looking up past her body at her face. “So, how have you been?”

Emily practically deflated, hunching forward and bracing her elbows on her thighs, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. “Honestly, Mr. Kitani, it’s been just awful. Every day I feel more and more like a fool for trying to become a model at all. I only have a short time to get discovered and I’m spending it here, serving drinks to gross old men. Um, not that I think you’re gross or old or anything.”

Kitani’s lips quirked. “It’s fine, I am old after all. But I’m glad you don’t think I’m gross.”

“Not at all!” She said breathlessly. She lifted her head and Kitani could see her blush beneath her foundation.

“Can I confess something?”

“Go ahead,” Kitani said, knowing full well sentences that started like that rarely ended well for one of the parties involved.

She looked down into her glass, admiring the lights glinting off the liquid within. “I was there, during your negotiation with Mr. Asahi.”

“I remember.”

She smiled, pleased as punch by such a simple thing. Her surprised reactions to his kindness reminded him of Youji in a way. “And I couldn’t help but think, ‘it would be nice if there was someone out there who cared about me like that.’” She set down her drink and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands, staring down at Kitani with a strangely intense look in her eyes. “Can you tell me about him?”

Kitani was both unwilling and desperately needy to talk about Youji. He wanted to sing his praises; his strength and his thoughtfulness, how he brought Kitani peace merely by being in the same room as him, how Youji’s growing trust made him strong enough to move mountains and willing to soak himself in blood and tattoo ink again in order to keep him safe.

At the same time, Kitani, coward that he was, didn’t want to cut open his guts and expose all his soft and fragile feelings, throbbing and twitching, to the open air and analysis by someone else. Would Emily understand how precious Youji was if he used his words—clumsy and incapable as they were? Or would she see straight through his flowery and eloquent excuses to the dark and twisted creature lurking inside him that lusted for the man he was supposed to protect?

“You don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice to, I don’t know, you seemed almost happy? When you were talking to Asahi about him.”

“If you really want to hear about Youji…”

“Oh, I really do!” Emily nodded eagerly and grinned at him.

Steeling himself by downing the last of his brandy and pouring himself another, the confession of Kouhei Kitani began.

* * *

“Here we are, fiftieth floor. Do you need any assistance getting to your room, sir?”

“’M fine.” Kitani mumbled, stumbling out of the elevator. He looked around for a second, lost in the hallway of identical doors, then his sluggish brain caught up and he remembered his suite number. It took him three tries to scan his room key and open the door in the correct order, but he eventually managed to make it past that flawless security system that was a locked door he had the key to.

Like the door, Kitani’s shoelaces proved troublesome, but he proved exactly why he’d been Kunihito’s second-in-command when he gave up and just yanked them off. With a helping hand from the wall, he managed to get back to his feet. His bedroom, unfortunately, was much too far for his uncooperative feet and he was forced to make an emergency landing on the couch.

“Kitani? What are you doing out here?”

What Kitani was doing was being totally drunk out of his mind. One drink had turned into the whole damn bottle and Emily had been forced to pour him into a cab with orders not to stop anywhere but the hotel. Kitani couldn’t recall if he’d actually paid the driver or if he’d just dropped that wad of Asahi’s cash in his lap as he fell out of the cab. The driver had been happy, he remembered that, and he hadn’t puked.

“Youji!” Kitani rolled onto his back and sat up. Looking at Youji in the black turtleneck he’d bought him that clung to his skinny chest and broad shoulders in an almost irresistible way, he remembered the promise he’d forgotten right about the time he’d finished his second glass. “Dinner! I forgot to get food! You must be starving!”

Youji shook his head. “No, I made a salad, kind of. Are you drunk?” He seemed incredulous, like he expected Kitani to do all his drinking in classy, dimly lit bars out of enjoyment of rare liquors, not to get fall-down drunk in a stranger’s office off stolen brandy. In truth, Kitani and binge drinking had said their farewells long ago, when the day-long hangover became more of a punishment than the bar crawl was a reward. He’d desperately needed the liquid courage for spilling his guts to Emily though.

“I’m so, so sorry Youji! I completely forgot about shopping.” Kitani buried his face in his hands.

“It’s fine, stop yelling.” An amused smile tugged at his lips. “You and my sister do the same thing when you’re drunk, you turn into frat boys.”

“Is your sister nice?”

Youji chuckled and nodded. “She’s one of the nicest people I know. You’d probably like her.”

The couch was unwilling to let Kitani stand up, but he fought his way free to stand in front of Youji. “I’d like to meet her one day. Is she pretty like you are?”

Youji’s face turned an adorable shade of pink and he looked away, covering his mouth. “She looks better than I do, she’s not all scarred up.”

“I like your scars.” Kitani said sincerely, taking Youji’s bandaged hand and squeezing it gently. “They’re proof you’ve been through the shit and survived. We oughtta get you a yakuza tat. Something pretty, like cherry blossoms.” The picture of Youji’s smooth back covered in stark black and pink cherry blossoms was a good one.

“You’re drunk. You’re going to sleep this off and you won’t even remember any of this nonsense you said in the morning.”

Kitani nodded, took a step toward his room, and tripped over the arm of the couch.

“Ouch.” He mumbled around a mouthful of carpet.

“Seriously?” Youji sighed and then he was at Kitani’s side, slowly helping him to his unstable feet. He grabbed Kitani’s arm, just like Emily had, and towed him like an uncooperative balloon to his room. Along the way, Kitani couldn’t resist turning his head to sniff Youji’s hair. He must have just taken a bath, because he smelled like the expensive hotel soap; beneath that, however, Youji smelled fresh and young, full of life like a forest during the first blush of spring. A far cry from how he’d smelled when Kitani rescued him.

Kitani flopped down on his bed—the appropriate place for flopping—and let out an appreciative groan.

Youji turned as if to leave, then stopped, asking over his shoulder, “are you just going to sleep in your clothes like that?”

“Probably!” Kitani closed his eyes as he luxuriated in the large bed.

Footsteps approached the bed and Kitani heard Youji mutter under his breath, “you really are just like her.” A touch at his chest caused Kitani’s eyes to fly open and he looked down to see Youji, inches away, undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Kitani’d had a number of dreams that started this way and, impossibly, the reality of Youji’s face so close and his slender fingers slowly opening his shirt outshone them all.

“Alright, you can take your shirt off yourself.” Youji held out his hand and Kitani shrugged off his shirt to hand it over. He didn’t immediately hang it up; instead, he stared at Kitani’s exposed shoulders. “I’ve never seen tattoos like that. I’ve never seen tattoos at all, actually.”

“Comes with being yakuza.” Craning his neck, he could barely make out the edges of his tattoo that curled out from beneath his undershirt. Despite that, he could remember every drop of ink that made up his tattoo. A large tiger with a terrifying oni mask, pulling itself out of a raging river that had consumed many weaker souls, all done in vibrant oranges and blues and blacks and whites and reds that never faded from his skin no matter how much time passed.

“May I see it?” Youji asked tentatively.

Feeling unusually self-conscious, either at showing his tattoo for the first time in a long time or showing his body, scarred as it was, he couldn’t tell exactly. He tried not to flinch as Youji’s thin fingers touched his skin.

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

“No.” Kitani laughed at the idea. “Your fingers are cold.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” He mumbled. His fingers traced lines on Kitani’s back only he could see. “The tattoo feels different than your normal skin.”

“A tattoo is a lot like a scar. You add the ink and it stays forever. Sometimes it fades but it never really goes back to the way it was.”

“You have regular scars too.” Youji gently poked Kitani’s broad back.

“Yup. You’re not the only one.” He looked over his shoulder just in time to see a small, pleased smile on his lips. Too drunk to question the wisdom of the decision, he turned around completely and caught Youji’s hand, pulling it to a long, jagged scar on his side, just below his ribs, disrupting the smooth line of his obliques. “I got this one in a knife fight, kind of, the guy had a bandsaw duct taped to a broken off broom handle.” Youji’s hand was stiff and cold as he moved it to his chest, slightly to the side of his heart. “This one was from a gunshot; it would have killed me if it hadn’t bounced off my rib.”

Youji’s eyes grew wider and wider while he talked. “Sounds scary.”

Kitani shrugged; he’d been scared when he was younger, and his mother took out her rage and despair on him. Fights weren’t scary, especially not once he grew tall and strong enough that he could win a fight against an average person with one strike. “It’s surprising when the other guy pulls out a trick you weren’t expecting. And a long fight against a bunch of people gets tiring, fast. Getting hit hurts, obviously, but if you can push past the pain and hurt the other guy more, you can win the fight.”

Against the skin of his chest, Youji’s hand had grown warm, and he lightly traced the outline of the bullet wound. Kitani had other scars, but this one had probably come closest to taking his life. “I couldn’t beat one guy in a fight even if I tried, and you’re saying you’ve taken on several and won?”

The idea of Youji fighting and getting hurt sent a chill through Kitani. “You don’t have to worry about getting in a fight ever again.” He was torn between holding Youji’s hand and letting him touch him any way he wanted. He compromised by reaching out and grabbing his sleeve. “I’ll protect you! No matter what it takes!” If Kitani had been a different man, if he’d been younger or braver or still as drunk as he’d been in the cab, this was the point where he’d kiss Youji. Isn’t that how oaths were sealed between knights and princes? With a kiss?

Youji’s lips parted, not quite sure how to respond. After a few long seconds of staring into Kitani’s eyes, he sighed, the moment gone in a puff of air.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the rest of your clothes.” While Kitani fumbled and failed to get his belt off, Youji hung up his shirt on a padded hanger in the closet.

“That reminds me, have you seen my jacket anywhere?”

Youji thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe it’s being washed?”

“Maybe.” Kitani was about to say more when Youji was suddenly kneeling down between his legs, easily pulling off the belt that had confounded Kitani, and all of Kitani’s alcohol inhibited brain power was now focused on not paying attention to how soft Youji’s lips looked and not thinking about what normally happened when one man removed another man’s belt.

He failed at not thinking. Failed hard.

Youji noticed, of course, and jumped up like he’d been burned when he hadn’t even touched it. Kitani would have known if he’d touched it.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m just, I’m drunk and…” his mind frantically tried to come up with any statement that wasn’t ‘I want to shove my cock in your mouth.’ Apparently, his talent for lying had deserted him along with all his self-control.

“It’s fine! It’s fine!” The way Youji backed toward the door was ample proof of how not fine it was. “You can get your pants off yourself, right? Great! Goodnight!” He didn’t even give Kitani a chance to respond before he was practically running out of the room.

Kitani groaned and fell back against the comforter. The comforter that, if he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, he could imagine he could still smell Youji on. It would be no trouble at all getting his pants off now; getting any sleep at all tonight was another matter entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't drink and drive kids! You'll make Youji sad! (Also when Youji said he ate a salad he meant he microwaved a bag of frozen broccoli and ate it with salt.)
> 
> HMU on twitter @SweenMaxine and tumblr @ mpregnateyourocs


	6. Oyakodonburi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erika tells Youji the truth, Youji makes a difficult choice.

Several days after Kitani came home drunk, the two men still had yet to discuss what had happened. None of it, not on the couch, in the living room, in the bedroom, or on the bed. Youji was fully prepared to accept that Kitani had forgotten the whole night; he’d woken up the next morning with a murderous hangover and mentioned nothing like an apology or an explanation except to complain that someone named Emily should have stopped him sooner. He didn’t want to discuss that night with Kitani even if he’d remembered everything; the idea of Kitani saying to his face that he hadn’t meant those kind words he’d said, it had only been the booze making him see things that weren’t there, hurt enough on its own. That Kitani might have been sincere was a concept so absurd it was beneath consideration.

Youji was happier leaving the past in the past. He could cling to the good parts of the night; the image of Kitani’s broad, muscular chest; the feeling of his skin, furnace hot beneath Youji’s chilled hands; his soft and rumbling voice as he’d described how he’d received his many scars. When Youji saw the large, stiff tent in Kitani’s pants, he’d been willing to do anything the man asked of him, climb into his lap and take him deep inside, or let Kitani use his mouth until that long cock, Youji could tell it was huge, exploded on his tongue. He would have moved to take him out of his pants, but he saw the horror in Kitani’s eyes. Kitani didn’t really want him, it was nothing more than a prank of biology.

Youji sighed and nibbled the warm toast slathered in melted honey and strawberry jam that was his breakfast as he rode the elevator down from the suite. He’d already taken his antibiotics and let Kitani change his bandages. Today was the first day in a long time that he’d be outside alone. Part of him wanted to stay in the hotel and hide under the bed. It was safe there and he knew Kitani would inevitably return; but he needed new clothes and, more importantly, he needed to see Erika.

It had been Kitani’s idea, he’d given Youji a disposable cell phone and told him to call someone he trusted. The first, and only, number that came to mind was Erika’s.

She’d burst into tears when she heard his voice.

The story she’d been told was that he’d run away, a troubled kid with no friends and no future who’d given up and left it all behind. When she’d insisted that Youji wouldn’t do such a thing and pushed for them to investigate, they’d stonewalled her, insisting he’d come back on his own and there was no point in wasting resources by declaring him missing. Just last week, she and her husband had collected his things from his apartment—on the insistence of his landlord when he, obviously, hadn’t paid rent—and the sight of his dead fish had filled her with despair all over again.

Hearing about his fish hurt. Those fish had brought peace and a small amount of stability to his life and all they wanted in return was food and a clean home and he’d failed them. More than the sound of Erika crying, which was so monumental he could only feel numb at the sound, the deaths of his fish made tears fill his eyes.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Youji had asked if Erika wanted to hang out, like they were middle school friends who’d lost touch rather than a sister and a brother who’d been missing for over a month.

Now, he was on his way to spend a whole day with Erika, something he hadn’t done in a long time, even before the events with Zenya. Inside his heart was a swirling tornado of feelings, too chaotic to make out individual emotions, leaving him numb instead, with a buzzing undercurrent of anxiety beneath his skin.

“Hey, you, Sakiyama or whatever your name is.”

Youji froze walking across the hotel lobby as a tall man approached him. He had a nasty look on his face and Youji glanced at the hotel receptionist, who gave him what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

“Kitani asked me—well, not me specifically, that was the boss’ idea—to keep an eye on you today.”

“Kitani did?” Youji hadn’t known Kitani very long, but he didn’t think he’d trust Youji’s safety to just anyone.

The man—the yakuza—rolled his eyes. “You’ve still got old Okinaga and his buddies looking for you right? Kitani didn’t want you getting snatched.” He scanned Youji from head to toe, his expression unimpressed. “Though I can’t imagine who would actually want to snatch you.”

Youji knew the reason Zenya wanted him so badly: they were the same creature, had the same being inside them. It was why every time Zenya raped him, Youji expelled those pulsing lumps of meat. It was a small miracle he hadn’t had an incident like that since Kitani had rescued him. Not that Youji was going to say all that to this perfect stranger.

At his silence, the yakuza shrugged “Guess you’re a better lay than you look, didn’t know Kitani was into that. Anyway, call me Mr. Aoshima, got it kid?”

His face burning with embarrassment at Aoshima’s off-handed comment, Youji nodded.

“What do we say, kid?”

Wondering what exactly this guy wanted to hear, Youji hesitantly said, “yes, Mr. Aoshima?”

“That’s what I like to hear.” A strange glint in his eyes, Aoshima led Youji to a flashy car parked on the street outside the hotel.

Youji missed Kitani already.

* * *

He managed to convince Aoshima to stay back and not let Erika see him as long as they didn’t leave the mall. When he saw her standing by the elevator—waiting for him—a wave of homesickness crushed his heart and forced tears to his eyes. He had to stop walking or he’d run to her.

“Erika!” His voice was so loud it attracted looks from the other shoppers.

“Yo!” Erika, apparently, didn’t care who looked at her. She ran at Youji and tackled him in a crushing hug that was exactly what he needed to prove she was real.

He bent his head and pressed his face against her shoulder, tears slipping from his eyes and soaking the warm fabric of her sundress. They clung to each other for a long time, Youji’s fingers digging into Erika’s back and Erika holding fistfuls of his turtleneck. Each time someone loosened their grip the other held on tighter, afraid if they let go their small, fragile family would be cast adrift again.

Erika let go first, and slowly, reluctantly, Youji unfurled his fingers and followed suit. She gave him a small, wobbly smile, her black eyes wet with unshed tears, and reached up to touch a lock of Youji’s hair that was long enough to brush his shoulders.

“Can you even see past all that hair?”

Youji huffed out a laugh and tucked his hair behind his ear. “I’ve been managing alright so far.”

Erika pressed her hand against his cheek; it was slightly chilled, soothing against his skin which was hot from the tears threatening to spill out. Her gently touch had soothed his fevers almost as often as his mother’s had. She searched his face as she said, “you’re so thin. Can you tell me where you’ve been? Are you okay?”

Youji reached out to hold her other hand, her eyes growing wide when she felt the bandages that covered part of his pal. “I think I’m fine now. Can we sit?”

Erika clutched his hand tightly and nodded.

It was technically too early for lunch, but they went to a small family restaurant anyway. Erika ordered and paid for them both, despite Youji’s protests that he wasn’t hungry, and they sat down in a booth while they waited for their food.

Erika stirred her lemonade with her straw and took a sip, wincing at the sour taste. “Are you really doing alright?”

“I am.” Facing Erika down across the table, telling her the whole story was an insurmountable wall standing between him and any hope of moving past what had happened. He’d never needed to have this conversation with Kitani; he’d known all the sordid details from the beginning when he saved Youji. He looked down at his hands and tugged his sleeves down to cover his bandages.

It was hard to quantify how much he remembered of his time with Zenya. Darkness made it seem almost dreamlike; his only reference to time passing came when Zenya arrived to play with his ‘toy.’

During those times he craved the darkness.

Memories blended together and wavered like dreams; at times they were all he saw when he closed his eyes. A gentle touch to his fingers pulled his thoughts back to the present and he looked up to see Erika’s worried face.

  
“You don’t have to be strong, Yo, it’s okay to cry if you need to.”

Youji was about to answer when the server arrived with two trays of food, oyakodonburi for Youji and salmon teriyaki for Erika, along with a side of white rice and tempura fried vegetables for the both of them.

“Actually,” Erika pulled her disposable chopsticks apart and rubbed them together to get rid of the splinters. “When you invited me out shopping today, I decided I was going to take you back home with me.” She held her chopsticks above her plate but didn’t take a bite, staring at Youji with an all-to-familiar look of sisterly concern.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Youji mumbled, repeating Erika’s gesture with his own chopsticks so he’d have something to do with his hands.

“Why not? You were kidnapped a month ago and I thought, if I had been there, I could have protected you somehow. I knew how much you were struggling and I, I didn’t do anything!” Her voice cracked and she wiped her eyes with a paper napkin.

Youji couldn’t handle Erika blaming herself for his kidnapping. He leaned forward and grabbed her hands, careful of their food. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you’ve always supported me more than you had to.”

“I had to support you, I’m your sister.”

“Exactly. You’re just my sister. You deserve your own life without me getting in the way.”

“That’s impossible Yo!” She wasn’t loud, but her entire body trembled with tension. “I’ll never be just your sister and you’re not just my brother. We’re all the family we have.”

“I’m not the only family you have, you have your husband and your son- “

“Then who do you have?”

Youji’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I…have…Kitani.” He couldn’t explain why he’d answered that way, didn’t even know if it Kitani felt the same way. If felt right to say it though.

Erika’s eyes softened with understanding. “Who’s that?”

Youji looked down, feeling shy beneath that gentle gaze, and poked his chopsticks into his oyakodon. He plucked out a piece of chicken thigh coated in a thick layer of sauce and egg, the reason for the slightly morbid name ‘parent and child bowl,’ and chewed the tender meat for longer than he needed to.

He opened his mouth, then sipped his water. The entire time Erika watched him expectantly.

Finally, out of time to stall, Youji said, “he’s yakuza. He worked for the man who kidnapped me.”

“What?” Erika gasped.

“It’s complicated.”

“I can see that!”

“Just,” Youji jabbed in her direction with his chopsticks, “eat and let me finish. Please?”

Erika obediently ate a tempura carrot, he could hear the crunch across the table.

“He kidnapped me, but he didn’t know it. I was…” his eyes dropped to his food, worried that if he looked at Erika, she’d know the full accounting of everything that had happened to him. “Held prisoner for a month. Then Kitani saved me. He gave up everything. He got me a doctor, put me in a hotel, gave me money, bought me these clothes.”

Peeking at Erika from beneath his lashes, he could tell she wanted to say something, but all she did was pointedly shovel rice into her teriyaki sauce and take a bite.

Youji sighed, wracking his brain for something eloquent and intelligent to say that would convince Erika with a single sentence that Kitani was better than he seemed. All he could come up with was, “I really like how I feel when I’m around him.”

Erika nibbled methodically at a snap pea. “May I speak?”

Youji nodded, reluctant to hear what she’d say next. He ate the rice in his oyakodon beneath the chicken, by now slightly soggy from the sauce coating each grain. Its rich and savory taste coated his tongue just as thickly.

“I don’t like that you’re staying with a stranger, much less someone who’s already hurt you once. You’re young, this might just be you clinging to a father figure, Yo.”

Youji felt heat rise in his cheeks and tried to hide behind his chopsticks, stuffing his mouth full of chicken. His feelings couldn’t be more different from a son’s if he and Kitani had been the same age.

Erika saw straight through him like he was a window. “I don’t know how he treats you, so of course I’m going to worry.”

“You don’t have to. He just thinks I’m a kid or a pet or something.” He must have sounded more wounded than he’d thought, because Erika reached out and took his hand, the protective fire in her eyes turning to sympathetic embers.

“I won’t pressure you to live with me anymore; in return, promise you won’t disappear again? I know you don’t have full control over it but try. For me?”

Youji thought about Zenya, who must be enraged that he’d escaped. He thought about Kunihito, who Kitani had described as a tactical genius and had flexed his vague and intimidating yakuza connections to keep the cops from investigating his disappearance. He thought about the deals Kitani had made that he couldn’t tell Youji about. So much uncertainty and danger that he didn’t want to get Erika involved in.

At the same time, he missed was sister. It was pure, uncomplicated truth, he needed to be in her life. As surely as he needed Kitani in his. Anything else and he’d be incomplete. So, he nodded, it was the most he could give to her.

After lunch, the two walked slowly through the mall, both uncomfortably full and laughing about it from their main dishes, white rice, tempura, and slices of strawberry shortcake they’d had for dessert. Eating with Erika reminded him of Sunday afternoons growing up, the only day Erika didn’t have work and he didn’t have school. Before the accident they’d had Sunday lunch with their parents. Those memories were bittersweet, though they felt sweeter when he shared them with Erika.

They stopped in a store and browsed through the clothes. Youji was helplessly lost when it came to fashion. He knew what he liked seeing other people in—suits apparently being at the top of the list, or maybe Kitani just looked good in anything—but when it came to himself he either wore his school uniform or something comfortable. Now, he felt pressured to pick out something trendy and cool, he was spending Kitani’s money after all.

“Do I even look nice in anything?” He thought out loud.

“Of course, you do, Yo. You look handsome in anything.”

Youji rolled his eyes and poked at a table of tissue-thin scarves that wouldn’t do anything against the cold. Compliments from Erika were nice, but hardly objective.

Erika came over with an armful of clothes in various colors and fabrics. “Try these on. We’ll buy what you like and then look somewhere else for more.”

Youji staggered as she shoved the pile into his arms, “how much are we getting?”

“How much money do you have?” She replied, only half joking. “You need clothes, if I’d known all you had was what you’re wearing I would have brought some.”

“I wash them every time I wear them.” He’d found the laundry room in the hotel and sat in a towel while he washed his clothes.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you didn’t have to do that?”

“I guess you’re right,” he mumbled.

They visited three more stores before Erika was satisfied, then a fourth so she could enjoy shopping for herself. Youji sat in a chair with his bags of clothes by his feet and rested while Erika browsed.

“How is your son doing?”

Erika smiled without turning her head. “He’s growing bigger every day. Did I tell you what I named him?”

Youji shook his head, feeling guilty despite himself that he’d missed so much of his nephew’s life already.

“I named him Yuuji.”

“Yuuji?”

Erika nodded. “The doctor said I was too weak to have another child, so I should appreciate this one fully.” Her arm shifted to rest protectively across her stomach, a nine-month long habit that wasn’t easy to break. “I decided to name him after the two most important men in my life: ‘Yuu’ for my husband and ‘ji’ for you.”

Youji looked at his lap, humbled that she would choose his name—even one kanji of it—and immortalize it with her own child. He would live on, no matter what happened, and Erika would never forget him, even if he disappeared again.

Not that Kitani would let him disappear. He’d promised Youji again and again that he would protect him, no matter who came for him.

Erika and Kitani. Two people Youji didn’t deserve. But, for a moment, the thought filled him with warmth, rather than guilt.

“I’d like to see Yuuji someday.”

Erika looked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. “You don’t have to make a request. Visit anytime you want. Bring Kitani.” The last part sounded more like an order.

“Kitani…” Youji sighed and a laugh bubbled out of Erika.

“Sorry, sorry. You just sound,” she glanced at Youji and reconsidered her next words, “a lot like I did when I first started dating, all sighs and dreams.”

“We’re not dating.”

“But you do like him.”

“Maybe a little,” he mumbled. “Maybe a lot.”

Erika wove between his shopping bags and gently touched his head, smiling down at him. “I think it’s cute. Yo has a cru-ush,” she sing-songed.

Youji huffed and brushed her hand away, his cheeks burning at the teasing. He’d had crushes before, had even dated a few girls in the past. But dating and Youji were puzzle pieces that could never properly fit together; he was too sick, too distant, not enough of a person.

“It’s impossible anyway.”

Erika gave him a knowing look, her arms folded. “Why is that? Did you ask him?”

“Well, no. But it’s obvious.”

“How so? Has he said: ‘Yo, I will never, ever date you?’”

“No,” Youji hunched his shoulders, curling into a defensive ball.

“Then he’s said: ‘I don’t like men and I will never make an exception?’”

“He hasn’t said that either. But there’s no way he could like me! I’m stupid and skinny and he’s seen me in the most embarrassing situations possible.” He cut himself off. In his throat he could feel the despair threatening to rise up. Youji rarely cried, being around Erika brought out the kid he used to be.

Erika said nothing for a moment; instead she took his hands and unfolded him, standing up so he’d have to lean back to look at her.

“You can’t know a person’s feelings if they don’t tell you. You can make all the guesses in the world but just because you think you’re right doesn’t mean you are. Likewise, you won’t know if your own feelings are getting across to someone unless you open your mouth and tell them what those feelings are.”

Youji opened his mouth to speak, but no rebuttal came out. What Erika had said was so simple, yet it carried the weight of absolute truth. Youji didn’t know the first thing about friendship or love, he’d been walking around completely ignoring Kitani’s feelings. He’d been so afraid of being rejected he’d tricked himself into not trying at all. Even now, he didn’t have the vocabulary to express himself. With Erika he didn’t need it.

“How are you so smart?”

Erika pulled him against her stomach in an embrace and ran her fingers through his hair. “Give your big sister some credit. It’s hard work keeping a marriage going, of course I’d have picked up some tricks by now.”

Youji sighed and reluctantly pulled out of the hug. “Do you have any tricks for,” he could feel his face growing hotter with each word he spoke, “how to confess?”

“Other than sitting down and telling him? When I proposed I made my husband a cake.”

“I can’t make a cake. I can’t even cook.”

Erika’s eyes widened; apparently, she’d been vastly overestimating Youji’s housewife skills while he’d been living alone. “How about honey toast? I’ve seen even you make it before.”

Youji thought about the fridge in the hotel. Normally he only opened it to pull out water or whatever leftovers Kitani had made, but he could almost recall seeing all the necessary ingredients in there.

“I can do that. I’ll make it tonight.”

Erika smiled, “promise you’ll call and tell me how it goes?”

“I promise.”

* * *

“What the hell kid, did you buy out the whole damn mall?” Aoshima said after Youji and Erika parted for good. Naturally, he made no move to help Youji carry his bags.

Youji rolled his eyes and piled into the elevator with Aoshima, who pressed the button for the parking garage. The entire slow elevator ride, Youji could feel Aoshima’s eyes on him. He kept his own fixed on the descending floor numbers, if he never saw Aoshima again after today it would be too soon.

The doors slid open and Youji took a step forward but was stopped by a hand wrapped around his skinny wrist as a family stepped inside. Aoshima reeled him back and whispered in Youji’s ear, “wrong floor kid.” Youji fought down a shudder at the feeling of his hot, wet breath on his skin. “We’re on the bottom.”

They rode in silence after that. Youji’s discomfort only grew when the family got off and Aoshima didn’t let him go. If anything, his grip tightened. Not tight enough to crush Youji’s already injured wrist but too strong to simply pull free, not for Youji at least. Aoshima’s hand felt like a bracelet made of hot iron, even through the layers of his turtleneck and bandages. Youji risked a glance back at Aoshima’s face and felt nervousness surge inside him at what he saw; Aoshima’s face was flushed, and his nostrils flared, like some kind of predator scenting for prey.

Slowly, trying not to draw attention to himself, Youji reached his free hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. There were only two numbers programmed on speed dial and he pressed the first, praying it would penetrate the cement parking garage.

The elevator doors slid open again with an incongruously cheerful ding and Aoshima nearly jerked Youji off his feet as he moved forward.

This level of the parking garage was nearly empty of cars. Aoshima must have moved the car while Youji was shopping, because the large space was unfamiliar to Youji. He’d moved the car to a darker, more isolated level deep within the frigid bowels of the Earth. This place had never and would never see the sun. To Youji, already on edge from Aoshima’s strange behavior, it felt wrong.

He dragged his feet, lagging behind so he could look at his phone; the screen was blank, with no indication that his call had been answered—or gone through at all.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Aoshima’s sharp tone made Youji jump. “Calling someone?” He yanked Youji forward and slammed him against a cement pillar, holding him easily with a hand on his shoulder.

“Calling your sugar daddy Kitani? What, you don’t feel safe with me?” With a feral, hyena-like laugh he grabbed Youji’s wrist and banged it into the corner of the pillar, making him gasp, more in shock than in pain, and drop the phone.

He heard the clatter of cheap plastic on the ground but couldn’t turn his head to look; Aoshima dominated his vision, his wild hair, his wide, gleaming eyes that bored into Youji. He parted his lips to speak and his white teeth seemed like flashlights in the gloom of the parking garage, glistening and wet with drool.

“Face the facts kid,” he leaned in so close Youji could hear his deep intake of breath. “I can do whatever I want to you down here and no one will hear you scream.”

If Aoshima wanted to see Youji struggle or beg he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He gritted his teeth to still his shudder and glared daggers at him.

“You know, I’ve never thought this about a guy, but you smell damn good.” A large hand slid up Youji’s chest. Youji took a deep breath but, rather than wrap around his neck, the hand peeled the neck of Youji’s shirt down so Aoshima could press his nose to Youji’s neck. “It’s like fucking candy.” A burning tongue squirmed over Youji’s skin like a worm and he squeezed his eyes shut in horror.

The longer this went on, the more memories of Zenya got dragged to the surface, right down to the cadence of his voice as he talked about how good Youji smelled. If he endured another second of this, he’d go crazy; he’d start screaming, or crying, or laughing, and he’d never stop.

Maybe it would be better to shut down completely; if all Youji was ever going to be was an outlet for other people’s lusts, it might be less painful if he stopped existing altogether.

“No.” He gasped, more to himself than Aoshima.

“What did you say?” Aoshima seemed befuddled.

“I said no!” Youji slammed his hands against Aoshima’s chest, attempting to shove the larger man off with the last dregs of strength in his fatigued limbs. Youji didn’t want to stop existing. He wanted to live! Live and be happy! His life may not have been what he expected, but he had a sister who loved him and a nephew who carried his name.

For the first time since his parents’ deaths, he had a dream beyond surviving the night. He’d spent years feeling like his existence was separate from the world around him, like he was a balloon slowly drifting away. Perhaps he had been, now he wanted to re-anchor himself to the world and its people—Youji’s people.

He wanted to know how Kitani really felt about him.

Aoshima laughed, a cold, cruel sound that froze the blood in Youji’s veins. Even so, he didn’t stop trying to shove him away.

The world spun and his cheek lit up in pain as Aoshima spun him around and pinned him against the column, growling in his ear.

“Listen, kid, you don’t need to fight this.”

“Shut up.” Whether Youji had a choice in what happened next, he wasn’t going to listen to Aoshima monologue.

“I’ve read about pheromones; your body wants dick so bad it’s sending out ‘fuck me’ signals. What’s wrong? The old man can’t get it up? Or is he just not enough?”

A hand groped Youji’s ass and he kicked out instinctively, hitting only air.

“Don’t worry, the boss has a big win coming up thanks to your man. Just in time too, considering how the Okinaga-gumi was doing. And I’m going to get a major reward for bringing Kitani back.” Aoshima’s tongue wormed around the shell of Youji’s ear and he winced when Aoshima bit down, hard.

“I think I’ll ask for you as a reward, a body as nice as yours will keep me happy for a long time.”

Two hands started to undo Youji’s pants and he jerked his hips away. Aoshima grabbed him and shoved him harder against the pillar. Stuck between cold, unfeeling stone and hot, hungry flesh; Youji burned and froze in equal measure as bile rose in his throat.

“Tell you what,” Aoshima’s barking laugh rang in his ear and nearly deafened him. “Dump the old man and I’ll let him live. If you behave, I’ll even let him visit you.”

Youji felt like a popped balloon, all the breath left his body in an explosion of shock. “Don’t,” he choked, “don’t kill him.”

“Aww, how cute, you must really like him, or maybe it’s just his money. Go on, you can tell me.”

Youji closed his eyes and pressed his injured cheek to the stone. If it meant keeping Kitani alive—and Youji had no doubt Aoshima would follow through on his threat of killing him—he’d let himself be used, but he wouldn’t lie.

His eyes caught sight of his phone by his feet. He remembered the call he’d made and hoped it had gone through, that Kitani would swoop in and protect him like he always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oyakodon is the superior donburi and if you disagree, disagree with me in the comments.
> 
> Twitter: @SweenMaxine Tumblr: mpregnateyourocs.tumblr.com


	7. Soft Serve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no 'right moment' to meet your not-boyfriend's family, but some moments are better than others.

The elevator doors opened on the bottom level of the mall’s parking garage and Kitani stepped out. He heard voices bouncing off the cement walls, making it impossible to pinpoint the source. That didn’t stop him; he stepped silently and scanned the maze of cars for his target.

A familiar voice cried out and both his pulse and his footsteps sped up, he dashed around a corner and let out a roar at what he saw.

“Youji!”

Aoshima had Youji pinned against a support pillar. Kitani’s mind refused to absorb any more details. In a fraction of a second Kitani had grabbed the back of Aoshima’s jacket and dragged him down to the ground, relishing the sound of impact when his back hit the concrete.

Kitani didn’t give him a second to recover. He pinned Aoshima with a knee in his gut and reared back, throwing the full force of his weight into a punch. Kitani had at least ten years on Aoshima. But age didn’t matter in the face of pure, vengeful bloodlust.

Kitani hit him once. Twice. Each strike crunched bone and loosened teeth. When Aoshima tried to turn away, Kitani jerked his whole body back so he’d be in the perfect position to hit him again. Kitani had beaten men to death before. He’d fought for his life in brawls. Neither of those compared to the blossoming, all consuming rage he’d felt at the sight of Youji trapped between Aoshima and the pillar.

He didn’t stop until the bastard stopped twitching beneath him.

The world slipped back into place one sense at a time. The coppery scent of blood and fear-piss spilled across the ground and created a tainted petrichor. His heart pounded like a jackrabbit and his lungs heaved as he dragged breath after breath into his lungs; he’d swung his arm so hard his shoulder twinged and his knuckles stung where he’d split the skin against Aoshima’s no-longer-perfect teeth. His tunnel vision widened to include the whole world again, and he saw the mangled pulp of Aoshima’s face blooming like a rose against gray concrete, it wasn’t beautiful, but the lurid rawness lent the sight a certain artful unreality; if it weren’t for the warm body beneath him he might mistake the sight for a painting.

“Kitani?”

Sound was the last sense to return, as the rushing blood faded from his ears, and the first thing he heard was Youji’s voice, deep and soft and concerned. Kitani stood slowly, his knees complaining of their time against the ground. Distantly, he heard the sound of rain falling on the ground. It was a disquieting sound, rainy days when he was a child meant the whole day trapped inside with his family. He looked down and was no less disquieted when he realized his hands were so bloody it was dripping onto the ground. He watched the slowly falling drops for a moment, mesmerized by the patterns they made when they hit the ground. Then he lifted his eyes.

He knew what he expected when he looked at Youji’s face. Fear. Horror. Disgust. Whatever trust had been built between them had been beaten to death quickly and comprehensibly and smeared across the pavement. It was impossible to look at Kitani’s hands and see a knight in shining armor.

What he saw instead shocked him to the core. Youji looked relieved. Happy to see him even. He had tears glistening in his eyes, but his jaw was set like they were left over from before Kitani arrived.

“Are you okay?” Youji asked.

What a silly question, Kitani couldn’t help but laugh. He quickly stopped himself; men who laughed after beating someone weren’t normal.

“I’m fine Youji, I should be asking you that.”

Youji shook his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m great, I just can’t believe how quickly you showed up.”

“What do you mean?” Kitani had arrived too late to protect Youji, all he could do was punish Aoshima after the fact.

“I called you.” He scrambled for his phone on the ground and held it up. There was a thin crack running through the screen and it showed no reception.

All Kitani could do was shake his head. “I never received a call from you.”

Youji eyebrows rose, and he blinked in shock. “Then how did you find me?”

“I had a bad feeling,” Kitani would have felt foolish for acting on his paranoia if he hadn’t just had to drag a man off Youji. “You told me you were at this mall. So, I went looking for you.” There was a fresh bruise on Youji’s cheek, he lightly brushed his thumb over it, accidentally leaving behind a streak of red. “He hurt you. I wasn’t here soon enough.” Kitani could feel a dark wave of rage threatening to overwhelm him again, and he eyed Aoshima’s still form.

“Are you kidding? The fact that you’re here at all is a miracle. He didn’t touch me,” Youji sounded oddly guilty, “you stopped him. You’re always there when I need you most.” Now the tears threatened to spill over, and he rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. “I knew you’d come,” he mumbled over and over to himself.

Kitani was at a loss, he wanted to pull Youji close and comfort him, but the blood all over him made that impossible. He couldn’t let the conversation just end with Youji’s gratitude; it felt half finished, or like they’d skipped to the end.

“I could have killed Aoshima you know, I certainly wanted to.”

“He wanted to kill you too.” Youji looked down at the ground. “He and your boss or whomever were going to take credit for all the work you were doing to get in good with someone else.”

“The regional chairman probably. Okinaga-gumi is a relatively small subsidiary, without Mr. Okinaga and me it was probably struggling to pay its dues.” Kitani’s mind worked quickly; this revelation was a tent pole in a plan that hadn’t yet taken shape completely. All information was good information though.

Kitani pushed the idea to the back of his mind. He was grateful to Youji for sharing that, but he wasn’t pleased it had come at the cost of him being assaulted.

“You should be afraid of me,” it was melodramatic but true. He felt like he was digging for splinters in a wound, it hurt but he had to do it or risk damage later when the adrenaline wore off.

“I was scared when you weren’t here.” Kitani could hear the edge of frustration in Youji’s voice. “You’ve had a dozen opportunities to hurt me, and you never have. Half the time you don’t even look at me. Are you just waiting for me to trust you so you can betray me?”

“No, absolutely not.” Kitani said with no hesitation.

“Then why should I be afraid of you?”

“Because I’m a killer!” The stone walls bounced Kitani’s confession back at him. “Do you see what I did to that man? I did it for you! That should terrify you!”

Youji closed the distance between them in a few long strides. He grabbed a fistful of Kitani’s shirt and tugged him closer, eliminating the space between them with a sudden, burning kiss. “You’re my protector, aren’t you? Why would I be afraid of what you do for me?”

All the emotions Kitani had been holding back broke free at the first touch of Youji’s lips. He wrapped his arms around his thin shoulders and crushed him against his chest in a tight hug. He ducked his head and captured Youji’s mouth again, attempting to convey all the lust and love and undying devotion he felt with a single press of his lips. Kitani knew it wasn’t enough, so he kissed Youji again and again until Youji was gasping, openmouthed, for breath.

“Kitani…” he said breathlessly. Kitani engraved that sound on his heart, it was too perfect to ever forget.

“Youji,” he knew his voice was little more than a growl of need as he pressed a gentle kiss to Youji’s lips, swallowing up his sweet mewl of pleasure.

“Yo?” A soft, female voice said from behind Kitani and Youji went stiff as a board in his arms.

He hastily extracted himself from Kitani’s embrace. “E-Erika! Why are you still here?”

Kitani felt oddly guilty, like he’d been caught stealing candy. He turned as casually as possible to face Youji’s big sister, hiding his bloody hands behind his back.

The woman was beautiful, yet pale as a sheet. Kitani could think of a dozen reasons why she’d look like that, none of which made him look good.

“I tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up, so I assumed you were underground.” She held up a large, white box, “you forgot your shoes.”

“Thanks,” Youji stepped toward her and took the box; she eyed his flushed face, then stared at Kitani over his shoulder. It took all the self-control he’d learned during his twenty-five years as a yakuza not to fidget.

“My name is Erika Sakiyama, it’s nice to meet you.” She bowed.

Kitani bowed as well, “Kouhei Kitani, it’s a pleasure.”

Erika’s eyes went wide. “I thought you weren’t going to confess until tonight, Yo?”

* * *

Erika had been surprisingly understanding about the situation with Aoshima once Youji explained why Kitani had felt the need to beat him half to death. She’d helped the two men drag Aoshima’s body into the back of his Mustang, although she’d looked skeptical when Kitani said he wasn’t worried about Aoshima retaliating.

“Aoshima and I may have the same boss, but I’m technically his senior.” Kitani explained, he and Erika were leaning against Aoshima’s car while Youji changed his shirt. Kitani had left bloody handprints all over the back when they’d kissed.

“Are you sure this is the kind of situation that can be brushed off just like that? He looked pretty badly beaten to me.”

Kitani brushed his thumb over his knuckles, pulling at the split skin until it wept a few jewel-like drops of blood. “I have an arrangement with our boss: Youji is off limits.”

Erika’s lips twisted in distaste and she crossed her arms. “You’re a dangerous man, Mr. Kitani. I thought so earlier when Yo was telling me about you and what I just saw confirmed it.”

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Youji.” Their voices were already soft, sound bounced unpredictably in parking garage, but Kitani lowered his voice even more so Youji wouldn’t overhear. His pulse thrummed in his ears, Youji and Erika were family, if Erika wanted the two of them separated Kitani would have no choice but to let Youji go. A part of him, the part that pushed him to win every fight he started, felt foolish for backing down so easily in the face of someone he could pick up and throw, but Erika’s eyes burned through Kitani’s exterior and froze him in place, assessing the kind of man he was.

“If you’re only using Yo for sex or to get money or for your own twisted sense of self-redemption, I’ll never forgive you.”

It would have been easy to laugh off her threat, he’d received more ominous ultimatums from stronger people, yet part of Kitani felt envious that Youji had family willing to stare down a yakuza covered in blood to protect him.

“I promise, all I want is to keep Youji safe, no ulterior motives.”

Erika sighed, and shrank back from a mother bear into a human being. She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a package of wet wipes. Pulling a few out, she stepped closer and started cleaning the blood from Kitani’s hands, he winced at the alcohol feeling on his torn knuckles but didn’t complain. It felt like a declaration of truce between two kings.

“I’m done changing.” Youji said as he walked out from behind the car. His eyes were sparkling as he tugged at the long sleeves of his gray polo shirt he’d tucked into his pants, and his expression melted into something soft and warm as he watched Erika help Kitani.

“You look great!” Erika beamed and brought her hands together.

“Thank you.” Youji nodded and moved around the car to stand in front of Kitani, looking up into his eyes. “What do you think, Kitani?”

Kitani thought Youji was perfect. All long, lean limbs and unconscious grace that Kitani knew Youji had worked hard to recover; formerly atrophied muscles had been retrained to carry his weight, as slight as it was. Youji no longer looked like a ghost or a skeleton, he was a man.

A man Kitani had kissed. His lips quirked in a smile that Youji must have taken as approval, because his cheeks pinked and he looked away, his long lashes obscuring his eyes.

“It looks good.” Kitani said. “You have a better idea of what you like to wear than I do.”

“Not really,” Youji mumbled, “Erika picked most of the clothes out.”

“Yo doesn’t really care about fashion, fortunately for me because I can put him in whatever I want.” Erika took Youji’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Kitani couldn’t help but laugh. “The exact opposite of-“ he cut himself off before he mentioned Zenya. Betrayal coiled around his heart like a snake and squeezed. Even happy memories had been stained by what Zenya had done to Youji, like spilling a bottle of ink on a book, the black soaked every page.

What right did Kitani have to smile over the memories of shopping trips and caring for Kristi when all the memories Youji had of Zenya were nightmares? The version of Zenya that lived in Kitani’s mind—troubled, yet wildly, vibrantly alive—was so different from the Zenya Youji knew—monstrous and cruel, more suited to a horror movie than real life. How could both versions of Zenya be the same person? Or had Kitani chosen to blind himself to the rot eating at Zenya’s soul? The same rot that had snatched away Kunihito’s sanity. Perhaps it deep inside Kitani as well, hidden in the dark crevices of his heart he was afraid to look in.

Erika looked thoughtful, her brow furrowed as she blatantly looked Kitani up and down. “Mr. Kitani, I take it that’s your only change of clothes as well?”

Kitani looked down and noticed the splatters of blood of his cuffs and waistcoat. He discarded the waistcoat in the back of Aoshima’s Mustang and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. “Is it that obvious?”

“You don’t smell, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said hastily, her eyes fixed on his arms; Youji was distracted by them as well, judging by how quickly he averted his eyes when Kitani looked at him. “I just guessed because you seem to be missing something.”

“I had a jacket, but it went missing a while ago.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied by a mystery solved. “Then before we—sorry, you two—leave maybe you should pick up some clothes for yourself?”

“He probably shouldn’t.” Youji looked down and scuffed his shoe against the concrete. “I mean, he has work he has to do, he doesn’t have time to goof around with us.”

Kitani stepped closer and tilted Youji’s chin up with his knuckles so he couldn’t avoid his eyes. “I’m more than happy to spend time with you, Youji. Just say the word and I’ll come to you.”

A pink blush spread across Youji’s face. As Kitani gathered up the shopping bags scattered at Youji’s feet he thought he heard him mumble, “thank you, Kitani.”

* * *

Kitani didn’t dislike shopping. If anything, he enjoyed the end result of having fine clothes and new things more than the act of browsing stores. He liked markets for the opportunity to haggle and get deals, but the mall was a gauntlet of false deals and endless, meaningless sales.

In a dimly lit changing room, Kitani buttoned up a peach-colored shirt and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. There was another problem with the mall. It wasn’t the color, that was fine; or the length, the sleeves went just past his wrists and he could easily tuck the hem into his new charcoal gray pants. The problem was the buttons. They strained to come together over his chest and left obvious gaps.

“This is why I don’t buy off-the-rack,” he muttered, undoing buttons until the shirt lay properly. It exposed more skin than he was used to, but thankfully didn’t reveal any scars.

A quiet knock came from the door, Kitani almost dismissed it as a mistake before he heard Youji’s soft voice. “Kitani? Are you in there?”

Kitani shrugged on his new jacket, grey to match his pants, and pulled open the door to the changing room. “What is it?”

Youji glanced over his shoulder and squeezed into the cramped space with him. They both pressed their backs against the wall, Kitani hyper-conscious of their closeness and the heat radiating from Youji in the air-conditioned mall. His mind nearly ran away from him as he pictured what they could do in this small space. He wondered how difficult it would be to keep Youji quiet.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he reminded himself more than Youji.

Youji’s eyes flicked up from Kitani’s chest to his eyes. An embarrassed flush grew on his face as he realized he’d been caught staring. “I’ll be quick.” His tongue ran across his bottom lip. “Let’s sneak off.”

Kitani jerked back in shock and banged his head on the wall. “What about your sister?” He hissed, rubbing his bruise.

“We can apologize later.” Youji lowered his gaze and tugged his sleeves further down over his hands. “Or, if you think a mall if a lame place to hang out at, we can go somewhere a guy like you would like more?”

“That’s not it.” Kitani lightly touched Youji’s shoulder, staring at his downturned expression. “I’ll go anywhere you like. I simply don’t want to worry your sister.” He didn’t add that he feared Erika’s retaliation if she thought Kitani had kidnapped Youji.

Youji’s eyes widened, and he blinked up at Kitani owlishly, “you really care that much about what she thinks of you?”

“I do. She’s your sister after all.”

“I see.” Youji’s shoulders hunched inward, bringing him inadvertently closer. “I’ve never introduced anyone to Erika before.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, conflicted over whatever thoughts were spinning through his head.

Unable to bear his worried expression, Kitani rested a hand on the back of Youji’s neck and pulled him closer until his face was pressed against his shoulder. Muscle by muscle, Youji relaxed into the embrace. Kitani nuzzled his nose into Youji’s silken black hair, thrilled by the innocent touch. Taking the chance to indulge himself further, he rubbed his thumb over the base of Youji’s skull, the same spot that had earned him a sweet gasp long ago on their first night together. It didn’t quite feel like years ago, but it did feel like he and Youji were taking hesitant steps forward into a new chapter together.

“Let’s sneak away,” Kitani said softly, not quite whispering, “tell your sister you need to use the restroom and I’ll meet you there. We’ll call it a practice date.”

Youji nodded slowly, his hair tickling Kitani’s cheek. “I should get out first then.”

“Hold on a moment.” When Youji started to pull away, Kitani gently tugged him closer, angling his face down and capturing his lips in a kiss. It lacked the desperation of their first kiss, but the need for secrecy and silence lent spice to the otherwise sweet kiss. Youi melted against Kitani’s chest and it took all his self-control not to devour him; instead, he took a pointed step back, smiling at Youji’s obvious disappointment. There would be plenty of time later for the two of them to kiss—and do other things.

“Now you’re free to go.”

A smile tugged at Youji’s lips as he left the changing room. Kitani took a few deep breaths to calm his excited heart before following after him.

* * *

Youji stood leaning against the wall by the bathroom with his hands in his pockets. From a distance, he looked like any average high school student skipping class, and Kitani couldn’t help but wonder what people thought when they saw him approaching. Then Youji looked at him and smiled, hurrying to close the gap between them, and all Kitani’s doubts flew from his mind.

“How long do you think we have?” Kitani held out a hand, palm up, and couldn’t repress the goofy smile that forced its way onto his face when Youji took it, ducking his head shyly.

“Probably not very long. Erika’s smart after all, she’ll connect the dots when she realizes we’re both gone.”

Kitani gave Youji’s hand a squeeze, the gauze bandages were rough on his palm and Youji’s hand felt like a block of ice; despite that, his long fingers folded exactly right around Kitani’s hand in a way that made it effortless to keep holding on.

“Then we’d better make every minute count.”

Youji nodded, and they walked in companionable silence through the sparse crowd. His steps slowed as they approached a collection of stands in the middle of the walkway. At first, Kitani assumed Youji was looking at the ice cream vendor, then realized he was looking beyond it at a stall selling junk for tourists. It seemed to have Youji transfixed though.

“Let’s go get a closer look.” Kitani hid his skepticism and pointed at the stall, letting Youji lead the way.

Up close, the stand was no more impressive. Metal wind chimes spun above solar powered dancing penguin toys. An entire shelf of blind boxes gathered dust; the real life equivalent of gacha games. On the top shelf were snowglobes featuring Tokyo landmarks—they weren’t even in Tokyo—among other scattered bits of junk. Kitani couldn’t find a single useful thing for sale, he’d much rather spend his money on ice cream.

Youji, on the other hand, searched for whatever object had caught his eye with hawk-like precision. He picked something up with the hand that wasn’t holding Kitani’s and approached the bored salesperson rapidly tapping at their phone.

“Excuse me, sorry to bother you but how much is this?”

“Five hundred yen.”

“Oh, okay.” Kitani felt a twinge of disappointment when Youji let go of his hand to pull out his wallet and pay. The sight of Youji smiling at his palm filled him with curiosity, he leaned over his shoulder to steal a glimpse.

“What did you buy?”

Youji stiffened and slowly uncurled his fingers, revealing a small bell cellphone charm in the shape of a, very round, gray wolf.

“Seriously?”

“Should I have not bought it?” Youji’s voice sounded small and guilty.

“Don’t worry about it. I gave you that money to do what you wanted with after all. It’s just unexpected.” He’d assumed Youji would spend his money on books and clothes, or maybe video games, whatever people his age spent their money on.

“I don’t normally buy things like this but,” Youji dangled the charm from his pinkie and watched it swing. The wolf had a surprisingly serious expression considering it consisted only of two black dots for eyes. “I saw it and it reminded me of you.” Youji turned his head to look up at Kitani, “you don’t mind, right?”

Kitani’s heart squeezed in his chest and he took a deep breath against the sudden, pleasant ache. It was such a sweet and simple answer, he would have assumed it was a line coming from the mouth of anyone else. Youji’s wide eyed and nervous expression, edged with hope, proved how absolutely sincere he was.

“It’s fine.” He smiled and scanned the stall. A little gray cat bell with a frightened expression and its tail up called out to him and he picked it up. “There, now we match.” He slipped the charm into his pocket as he handed over five hundred yen, which still seemed too expensive for a bell smaller than his thumb.

The smile on Youji’s face as he looked at his wolf almost made it worth it.

“Let’s get some ice cream before we go back to the suit store.” If Erika found them and they were just eating ice cream together, she’d hopefully think it was Youji’s idea, rather than Kitani trying to steal him away.

Of course, Kitani did want to steal Youji away. Not from Erika, not even from Aoshima. There was no specific enemy Kitani wanted to protect Youji from; rather, he wanted to monopolize his time and keep him close so that Kitani would always be on hand to save him. Kissing Youji hadn’t quieted Kitani’s desire, if anything, it had only added fuel to the fire.

It was a desire that went beyond mere flesh, although he certainly ached to touch Youji. To taste Youji’s beautifully soft skin. To make him writhe in pleasure and beg for more and finally, finally hear him moan Kitani’s name. No, Kitani also desired Youji’s small, shy smiles; he wanted to learn about his childhood and discuss his plans for the future. He wanted to comfort Youji when he was scared, and he wanted to learn what it would take to make him truly laugh.

Kitani wanted to have a life with Youji. He only wanted the impossible.

“I’m not…” Youji started, then glanced up at Kitani’s eyes and reconsidered. If he had said he wasn’t hungry, Kitani would have pushed him to get the ice cream anyway, Youji had a bad habit of simply not noticing when he was hungry.

If he had said he wasn’t ready to end their brief date, Kitani would have had no choice but to agree with him.

Kitani paid for their ice cream, vanilla soft serve for Youji and vanilla and chocolate swirl dipped in a chocolate shell for himself. The two men sat on a bench by a bed of flowers wilting in the dim mall. Some things simply weren’t built for life indoors. It seemed to suit Youji fine though, aside from wanting to see his sister he’d never complained about spending his days in the hotel while Kitani observed Kamiya’s movements. The man might have been a shut-in at heart.

He nibbled the chocolate shell on his ice cream and broke off a large shard, letting his thoughts wander where they would. It was important not to drip anything on his new suit, it may have been off-the-rack, something to tide him over until the store finished his tailored suits, but it felt good to be dressed properly again. His suits had unknowingly become armor for him over the years, an impeccable appearance acting as protection against the growing chaos in his life, even before Kunihito’s injury.

Kitani ran a hand through his hair and glanced over at Youji. They were seated close together on the bench but weren’t touching. Experimentally, Kitani shifted his knees apart so his thigh pressed against Youji’s. He jolted at the touch and looked up at Kitani.

“Enjoying your ice cream?” He asked Youji with false innocence.

“Yeah.” Youji paused. His lips parted and he ran his tongue up the column of white ice cream “It’s been a while since I’ve had ice cream.”

“It’s the same for me, it’s not exactly a snack suited for a forty year old man.”

“You’re forty?” A smile played at the edges of Youji’s mouth. He reached out and looped a strand of Kitani’s hair around his finger. “Explains all the gray hair then.”

Kitani sighed and tugged on a lock of Youji’s hair, “like you’re one to talk about hairstyles. How can you see past all this?”

Youji flushed with embarrassment and tried to lean away from Kitani, Kitani followed him and ruffled his soft black hair so it fell to completely block his eyes.

“Knock it off.”

“You shouldn’t tease your elders.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to me?”

“I am nice, I bought you ice cream.” Despite his words, Kitani stopped ruffling his hair and instead brushed it out of his face. He traced his fingers around the shell of Youji’s ear as he tucked his long black hair back, noting the way Youji shivered.

“Give me a taste of your ice cream,” he said in a low, soft voice.

Confusion written on Youji’s face at the sudden request, he held out his cone. Gently pushing it aside, Kitani leaned over and pressed their lips together. Youji’s lips were sweet and sticky with vanilla, and the sweetness continued as Kitani coaxed the kiss deeper, melting into Youji. His hand molded to the shape of Youji’s face, beneath his touch he could feel his cheek heating up, chasing away the chill that clung to Youji’s skin

When Kitani pulled away, Youji’s long lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.” Kitani made a show of wiping the saliva off his own lips with his thumb before turning back to his ice cream. It had started to melt while he was otherwise distracted, and he hastily sucked up the drops that were escaping down the side of his cone.

Youji let out a slightly shaky sigh; his own ice cream, without a chocolate coating to contain it, was quite a bit messier than Kitani’s, and had dripped all the way to his fingers. Kitani watched out of the corner of his eye as Youji delicately licked the cream from his long, slender fingers.

Kitani needed a distraction more compelling than ice cream before he gave into the urge to throw their treats aside and taste Youji’s lips again. Conversation would help, it had to.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?”

Youji slowly pulled his ring finger out from between his lips. “Eat ice cream?”

“I mean go on dates.”

“Oh.” Youji looked down at his lap and licked his ice cream. “Not really. What about you?”

“Not for a long time. Sorry if I’m rusty.” He’d half meant it as a joke, but Youji shook his head emphatically.

“You’re great. I’m the one who’s not good at this sort of thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Spending time with people.”

Kitani laid his hand on Youji’s thigh and squeezed, attempting to encourage him. “We can get better at this together.”

“But you’ve been with guys before. You know what you’re doing.”

Kitani furrowed his brow. He’d assumed that Youji had at least gone out with boys his age. That might have been premature, and considering how traumatic his experiences had been, it was a wonder Youji had any interest in men at all. “Are you worried about the fact that I’m a man? Or is it the age difference?”

“Yes? No? To both? I don’t know.” Youji’s mouth twisted downward as he took a bite out of his ice cream, staring at a dying flower that had already begun to rot, perfuming the air.

Kitani fought to hide his sigh of dismay as he pulled his hand away from Youji and ran it through his hair. He’d pushed Youji into new waters full of sharks and ordered him to swim. Guilt turned the ice cream in his stomach to lead and the sugar on his tongue tasted bitter. He’d been so excited by the smallest reciprocation of his feelings that he’d practically jumped Youji. Erika was right not to trust him; he couldn’t trust himself.

“We don’t have to do anything Youji. We don’t even have to kiss.” He gave a boyish smile and shrugged. It was a fake, his willingness to cut himself off from indulging in Youji’s affection, but he’d rather stay by his side and protect him than climb on top of him and scare him away.

Under no circumstances would Kitani betray Youji by attacking him the way Aoshima and Zenya had, although he had the sinking feeling that his continued desire to touch Youji meant he was no better than them deep down, that his soul was rotten.

Youji nodded, accepting Kitani’s lie, trusting him completely. It had taken so long to earn it and now that Kitani had it, it felt like a knife in his gut.

“You won’t get fed up with me? I’ve had friends, and girlfriends, get tired of me. I don’t know how other people stay friends or date each other, I think because I’m not human, so I’ve always been lonely.”

Youji gripped the sleeve of Kitani’s new jacket, reaching out across a canyon built by years of isolation slowly wearing him down. “I’m afraid of facing all this—the mob and the Liberated and Zenya—by myself. If you left me, I wouldn’t be able to lie to myself and say I’m fine with being alone. You’ve completely broken down what walls I had, so it’s your responsibility to protect me.”

Kitani curled his hand around Youji’s, “you don’t have to be afraid. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it: I will protect you. From harm, from your enemies, from loneliness. Even if I die, I’ll remain by your side.”

Youji deflated and rested his forehead on Kitani’s shoulder, leaning his entire weight on him, Kitani bore it easily.

“Kitani,” he choked with a voice thick with emotion, “can I have a kiss?”

It wasn’t a passionate kiss but hearing Youji ask for him made his heart pound all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD LORD THEY DONE THE KISS THING. It's about time.
> 
> @SweenMaxine is my twitter and mpregnateyourocs.tumblr.com is my tumblr.


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